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jinnie-ret · 9 months ago

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ep 7: the final weddings

ratings: fluffy, teeny angst

warnings: slight suggestive comment (from Minho lol)

running time: 2.5k words

summary: two traditions and two similar lifestyles come together. will they both be a match made in heaven?

SKZ MAFS MASTERLIST MAIN MASTERLIST

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

S.O 🤍 S.O 🤍 S.O 🤍 S.O 🤍 S.O 🤍 S.O 🤍 S.O 🤍

They were matched because they've got similar lifestyles, Octavia is a headstrong driven woman who will make sure Seungmin knows she's here to stay for real. With his past relationship it could have caused trust issues, so despite his sometimes blunt demeanour we can tell this is someonewho truly thinks deeply and may need a taste of his own medicine to keep him out of his own head.

A gorgeous orchard with midnight blue flowers wound round trellises cocooned the seats lined up and ready for the wedding to take place. This scenic courtyard had bellows of periwinkle fabric hung above, along with some starry fairy lights creating a magical scene. Both Seungmin and Octavia's family were already sat and waiting for the marriage to be sealed. It may not have been the sunniest of days, the cloudy weather making the anticipated mood seem quite overcast. Fortunately, the almost bubble of a venue and the atmosphere that was about to erupt would make for a much brighter time.

Seungmin was first to walk down the aisle, arms hanging by his sides nervously, something that was out of character for him. His friends and family had noticed right away. In fact, by the time he had reached the top, all he could muster up was a small and short bow to both families. It wasn't like him, he had been in plenty of meetings before, ones with high pressure, but now here he was fiddling with the hem of his black tuxedo. Even with the calming aura of his surroundings, his mind was suddenly working at 100 miles per hour. Had he noticed the way that Octavia's family were whispering amongst themselves, it would have made him felt even more anxious.

Octavia happily strutted down the aisle, a bundle of nerves and excitement decorated by a sleek, silky wedding dress, that showed off her figure she was so used to modelling in her line of work. The warmth in the blush on her cheeks and the nude pink shade of her lips contrasted wonderfully with her chocolatey hair cascading down in elegant curls. With her father by her side to give her away, she felt that something was up in the air as soon as he left her side and Seungmin turned to face her.

“Hi, how are you?” Octavia smiled brightly and opened her arms to Seungmin in a short hug.

“Yeah, good,” Seungmin barely wrapped his arms around her before pulling away and looking down.

Octavia exchanged nervous glances with her family, but they tried as best as they could to reassure her with their own looks.

M.I 🤍 M.I 🤍 M.I 🤍 M.I 🤍 M.I 🤍 M.I 🤍 M.I 🤍

These are two animal lovers who, oddly enough, even though their reasons for joining the experiment may sound different at first, there is actually a lot of crossover between the two. Minho clearly wants that feeling of being in a relationship again, and Ishani is looking for someone she can trust. With Minho's open heart, he will be more than welcoming to Ishani, and together they can help each other grow as people.

A round circular path, with the grand presentation of a water fountain in the middle of it, led to an old traditional hall. The sandy tones of the building encompassed an interior with beautiful, chromatic tones, ornate in their history and attractive in stature. A vibrant red carpet created the aisle, surrounded by dark oak, wooden pews, currently being filled by guests. As they entered, you could already see how two cultures were being brought together, people of all ages from South Korea and India now sat waiting.

Minho of course walked down the aisle first, admiring the candles lit that created a glowing atmosphere and warmth he was excited to walk into. As he walked across the soft carpet, he wore a nervous grin on his face, bowing politely to both sides of the guests. His friends were especially excited to see him, as they initially couldn’t believe that this was real. Both of his parents were also there, his mum cutely holding onto a keyring of three cats, Soonie, Doongie and Dori. The whole setting seemed to match Minho’s elegant suit, the black suit he adorned having small details such as golden cat cufflinks, along with thin maroon lapels and a handkerchief that was the same colour, neatly tucked into his pocket. This was it, the day he got married.

The silence in the room only lasted moments long, before Ishani walked around the corner, hand intertwined with her father’s. She was a gorgeous sight to behold, ruby red lehenga with a gota patti embroidery style in gold, creating a beautiful blend of hues on her skirt. Of course, it was paired with a matching top and scarf. Another aspect of Ishani’s wedding ensemble was the henna that decorated her hands and feet. Despite the nature of the show, Ishani got the approval from her parents she needed to begin this adventure in her life, yet they had requested that she still pay homage to her roots and present traditionally. She had happily agreed, meaning that in a celebration of wishing her good health and prosperity, or, Mendhi, that was when the ink became apparent. Her mother had even cheekily made it darker, showing that she wished for a strong sense of love between her daughter and husband to be - in reality this strong bond would already be apparent. The stronger the henna, the more in love the couple is said to be.

Minho’s eyes twinkled with amazement and fondness as soon as his eyes connected with Ishani’s and she felt her heart nearly beating out of her chest as her father walked her further up the aisle, hoping that she’d get his approval to be with the handsome man in front of her.

“Hi, I’m Ishani,” she smiled radiantly at Minho, seeming like she wanted to do something more, give him a hug, at least.

“I’m Minho, it’s lovely to meet you. You look truly amazing,” Minho charmingly spoke, truth in every ounce of his words. He too wanted to hold his wife-to-be in his arms, yet he felt a bit awkward in doing so when her father was still standing right there.

“Ishani, take my hand,” her father spoke, before looking at Minho to do the same. He tutted as first when his left hand was presented, but quickly connected the younger two’s right hands together, visibly indicating his approval for the marriage in an act of Kanyadaan. After that, he smiled, patted Minho on the shoulder and took his seat next to his own wife.

“He approves,” Ishani reassured Minho with joy evident, quickly taking away his worry and mainly confusion.

In response, Minho sighed in relief, “thank goodness for that,” and then gently brought Ishani into a hug. Once they both pulled away, bashfully, mind you, the priest approached and officially began the ceremony.

S.O 🤍 S.O 🤍 S.O 🤍 S.O 🤍 S.O 🤍 S.O 🤍 S.O 🤍

“Octavia, would you like to go first?” the priest asked, the girl nodding in response.

“I feel like I’ve always been looking for the right person, so I’m hoping you’re the one who will stop my endless searching,” Octavia began with a slight out of character apprehension, but soon found her feet. “I hope that we can constantly build each other up and always have each others’ backs, because I know I’ve already got yours. I promise to make you laugh, hold you when you cry and eventually tell you how much I care for you. In sickness and in health, as the saying goes.”

Next, it was Seungmin’s turn.

“Loyalty and faithfulness are both incredibly important to me, so know that I will always stick by you whilst having a laugh too. I may come across as a closed book at first, but once you get to know me I hope you will appreciate and learn all the different sides to me, just as I promise I will do for you as well. This is a crazy thing we’re both doing, but I’m excited for the adventure we are about to begin,” he sighed in relief and gave a small smile once again to Octavia. She seemed more relaxed now after hearing his vows and getting an insight into his personality.

M.I 🤍 M.I 🤍 M.I 🤍 M.I 🤍 M.I 🤍 M.I 🤍 M.I 🤍

“To my wife, I don’t know you yet but I want you to know that I am willing to put my best efforts into this marriage so that it works. I will be there by your side to cherish all the little moments we have, and to celebrate the milestones we make in our relationship to come. I am very passionate about my job and what I do in life, so I promise to uplift you, encourage you and simply be there for you in whatever you do,” Minho calm and collectively recited his vows.

“My husband, this is certainly not a conventional way to find the love of my life but I hope that is what you will be to me. Trust is incredibly important to me, so I hope that this is something we can have between the two of us as we get to know each other more and more. I promise to stay by your side, and grow as a person with you as we explore this marriage together. Also, you better be a cat person,” Ishani threw in jokingly at the end.

“I love cats!” Minho exclaimed with relief, eyes widening in a newfound fondness already.

“Really?!”

“Yes, I have three!”

Their small, excited murmurs were interrupted by the priest reminding them to place their rings on each other's hands.

S.O 🤍 M.I 🤍 S.O 🤍 M.I 🤍 S.O 🤍 M.I 🤍

When Seungmin and Octavia shared their first kiss, it was short but sweet. There was a tentative approach yet soon they would be able to relax in their shared presence. Minho and Ishani’s kiss lasted a bit longer, and it was the clearing of the throat from her father, soon drowned out by the cheering of Minho’s friends, that jolted them out of their bubble.

S.O 🤍 S.O 🤍 S.O 🤍 S.O 🤍 S.O 🤍 S.O 🤍 S.O 🤍

It was now time for their first dinner together, where everyone was gathered around tables and getting to know each other. The newly married couple sat at the head of the stunning buffet, fortunately getting along quite well, exchanging stories of their travels.

“So, what do you do for work?” Seungmin enquired curiously.

“I’m a model. I do travel quite a lot for work so I hope that won’t be an issue for us?” Octavia crossed her fingers underneath the table, Seungmin spotting this.

“Haha, you don’t have to do that, it won’t be an issue for me at all. Actually, my work has me travelling a lot too,” he admitted with a nod.

“Really? What do you do?” Octavia shifted her body to face him more, taking a sip from her champagne flute.

“Ah, it’s a talent company for actors, singers, models too, actually,” Seungmin tried to discreetly describe what he does without naming the company.

“Wow, that's amazing!” Octavia nodded feeling impressed, something at the back of her mind feeling satisfied that they would be financially stable as a couple in the outside world.

“It is, I do love my job. Where’s your favourite place you’ve travelled to?” Seungmin asked.

“The one that comes to my mind first… I’d probably say Amsterdam. It’s just something about the atmosphere of that city that feels like you’re in another world; the culture, the art, the canals…” Octavia trailed off fondly.

“Sounds like a five star review. I’ve never been,” Seungmin acknowledged.

“No way! It’s amazing, really. I hope our honeymoon is there,” Octavia remarked in a wishful tone.

M.I 🤍 M.I 🤍 M.I 🤍 M.I 🤍 M.I 🤍 M.I 🤍 M.I 🤍

“So, you said you have three cats? What are their names?” Ishani asked the question she had wanted to ask ever since their mini discussion had been cut off earlier.

“Soonie, Doongie and Dori. They’re my babies,” Mihno cutely smiled, the expression reaching his eyes.

“Oh they sound so cute! I’m a vet and I love it when cats get brought into work,” Ishani commented, using her knife and fork to cut through her food.

“You’re a vet? Hey, one of the cats at this cat cafe I work at-”

“You work at a cat cafe? You’re an absolute dream,” Ishani couldn’t stop herself from interrupting, her heart fluttering.

“Yeah, it’s, umm, it's really fun,” Minho stuttered ever so slightly, not expecting the sudden compliment, “but, umm, yeah, one of the cats from the cat cafe keeps escaping the kennel area at night, and starts running around the cafe area and knocking things down. Is there something we should be doing?”

“You sure they aren’t drinking the coffee from behind the counter?” Ishani teased.

“No, no, no,” Minho chuckled and waved her question off.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. It sounds like they’ve just got the zoomies and are trying to burn off some energy before getting some sleep,” Ishani thoughtfully considered.

“Burn off energy? It’s like they’re trying to burn years off of my life expectancy,” Minho whined jokingly, making his wife burst out into laughter.

S.O 🤍 S.O 🤍 S.O 🤍 S.O 🤍 S.O 🤍 S.O 🤍 S.O 🤍

“Something about walking around, just the two of us, feels so much better,” Octavia mused, her hand intertwined with Seungmins as they wandered the grand hall their wedding had taken place in.

“I agree. Feels more… calm. I definitely feel more relaxed now,” Seungmin declared quietly, almost like he felt a bit sensitive in doing so.

“I did notice that during the day you seemed to relax more,” Octavia nodded in agreement.

“Oh you did? You must have thought ‘what have I gotten myself into?’ when we were at the ceremony,” Seungmin expressed in an exaggerated tone

“Yeah, I did,” Octavia sighed.

“Wait… really?” Seungmin paused in his tracks, causing his wife to stop too.

“No! I’m kidding, chill,” Octavia rolled her eyes with a smirk, pulling him forwards with her.

“Aish,” Seungmin blinked in amazement at being fooled. There seemed to be a void in his heart that was already being filled, little by little.

M.I 🤍 M.I 🤍 M.I 🤍 M.I 🤍 M.I 🤍 M.I 🤍 M.I 🤍

After the dinner with their loved ones, Minho and Ishani had sat down on the edge of the water fountain outside, admiring the greenery and fairy lights around them, as well as the starry night sky. The conversation between them flowed so naturally, before Minho’s intrusive thoughts got in the way.

“What if I pushed you in?” he wiggled his eyebrows.

“Not in these clothes!” Ishani whacked him on the shoulder lightly, both physically and in intention.

“Right, they’re far too gorgeous to ruin,” Minho let his eyes scan her outfit once more.

“Hey! What about… I don’t know, me?!” Ishani folded her arms.

“What… are you too gorgeous to ruin?” Minho seductively lowered his voice, before reminding himself this was the first day they had met, they hadn’t even known each other for 24 hours yet and Ishani’s eyes had immediately widened upon his question. “Omo, forget about that…”

“Ok, ok,” Ishani nodded, turning away and trying to hide her smile, seeing that Minho was trying to dig himself out of the hole he had just made.

“You do look lovely though,” Minho affirmed, always the gentleman.

“Thanks,” Ishani patted him on the knee. Their wedding day couldn’t have gotten any better. Now, they were both just excited for their honeymoon so that they could learn even more things about each other.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

viewers: @linoalwaysknows @royal-shinigami @jolly04 @turtledove824 @yangbbokari @thisrandomgoofy15 @lieslab @hannamoon143 @arumlilyeclipse @jyu-037 @keen-li @strawberry31 @5starlee @shua-f4lmings @amararosesblog @noyurcapri @babybreadddd @theo4eve @gimmeurtummy @zee-143 @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @katzline @haodore @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @his-angell @2minstan @milf-ivy

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a-cloud-for-dreams · 1 year ago

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timeless

Pairing: Radha Basu x Deviya Sharma

Radha x Devi Taglist: @agattthaa

A/N: I had a dream about Radha and Devi (technically the entire Basu family) but scrambled to turn it into something for my beloveds. I’m just gonna *casually* toss it into existence and run away because idk how good this is

Fun Fact: To all the readers who know about my Choices OH MC, Dr. Chandini Ramakrishnan, the woman referred to in this fic is her mother (Naveen Banerji's daughter)!

Divider Credit: @saradika

Basu Residence, Present Day

“Please, I urge you to reconsider-”

The woman held a hand up to stop the man from speaking further. “My mother died without once mentioning its existence. This is the first time I’m stepping foot in this home!”

“But…she did Miss,” he scratched his head. “Every summer she and your father visited India, they stayed here, even when a hotel would have been more convenient. They brought you here all the time when you were a baby, and I know it would break her heart for you to sell it. Not to mention Dr. Banerji-”

“I don’t remember asking for unsolicited advice, please just move all the previous belongings out," she sighs, signaling for him to leave. She didn't have time to worry about family property now, especially since her mother died years ago. She should be at home with her daughter and husband. But of course, Father insisted I handle this when I'm at my busiest!

She turned her gaze to a portrait half covered by a rich purple cloth. It was of a woman she didn’t recognize at first. She uncovered the portrait carefully, as if she was scared of disrupting her serenity. She slowly traced over the woman's dark brown hair and around her amber eyes, combing through her memories to assign a name to the face in front of her. Her father must have mentioned her at least once...

Wanting to see what else was hidden throughout her home, she spun too quickly, causing a tower of boxes to topple over. The woman scoffed. Just what I need! She bent over to gather everything that fell when a mahogany box with gold accents drew her eye. The lock broke open after the fall, revealing its contents that were filled to the brim.

Upon further inspection, she found a collection of handwritten letters tied in a bundle with string. Some appeared to be incomplete drafts but others were pages long. They were neatly organized in the box before they were sprawled out on the floor. She picked up each letter, tracing over the words.

But I find myself thinking about her more and more. It’s hard to focus on anything else when she’s mere steps away...She looks even more radiant with flowers braided into her hair.

I played with the ring on my finger, she gifted it to me a few days ago. She said she named the purple stone after me, but she doesn't know that how my heart skipped a beat after hearing those words.

It took all of my strength not to run up to her and embrace her in front of everyone. They can’t know, they can never know.

She's sleeping soundly, next to me. I feel her warmth, her hand resting over my belly. I should be asleep as well, this is the most peace of mind I've had since, I don't even remember how long! It doesn't matter what happened before. I'm all hers, and she's all mine.

Mine...

The words rippled through her mind like the ocean tides. Powerful. Touching. Overwhelming. She pressed a hand over her warm forehead, feeling her mind trapping itself in a haze. A primal headache overtakes her senses. She leaned against one of the pillars to regain her thoughts and catch her breath, but she failed. She couldn't help but scream.

Basu Residence, 1913

Radha Basu was annoyed, bordering on angry. Well, as much as she could possibly be. As Devi always teases, she could never stay mad at her beloved for long. But this time, she intended to remain strong and teach her a lesson. The Basu heiress heard quiet footsteps trailing behind her, initiating her plan.

"You look nice," Devi said with a smirk. It took all of Radha's self-control for her lips not to curl into a faint smile. Don't smile! You're mad at her!

"Did I not look nice before?" she says, her voice purposefully devoid of emotion.

"I never said that."

Radha scoffed, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. Devi frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. She looked both ways, making sure the room was clear before hugging Radha from behind, Devi's arms loosely wrapped around the Basu heiress's waist. She buried her head into the crook of Radha's neck, taking pleasure in her warmth after spending the cold morning riding Deimos.

"I know what happened today." Devi stilled, Radha waited to see if she would say anything in her defense before continuing. "How long did you think you could hide this from me?"

Devi sighed, moving away from Radha. "It was an accident, the doctor said it would heal fine!"

"What if it wasn't! What if something happened to you that wouldn't heal so quickly? You can't keep recklessly endangering yourself!" Radha exclaimed, placing a hand over her forehead.

Devi's eyes widened and she took Radha's hands and placed them in hers. "Is there something else bothering you, my darling?" Radha sucked in a breath, shivering at the direct contact of her cold hands.

"N-no," her voice faltered. Devi gave her a look before pulling Radha closer to her and kissing her forehead. She rubbed her lower back as well, hoping to ease her tension.

"Please don't make me worry. We're already kept apart for most of the day, I want our few moments to be filled with joy and laughter, not sorrow."

Radha sighed, blinking away the tears forming in her eyes. It was a bittersweet feeling, to love someone so deeply that you were petrified of any danger fate may throw their way. This was her Devi. The one who comforted her when she needed support. The one who would risk her family legacy for her. The one who loved her unconditionally and never made her feel anything less than extraordinary.

"I don't want you to leave me like Raj did."

It took all of Devi's willpower not to groan. Sometimes, it astonished her how deep a scar that man left on her darling. She picked her next words carefully, her hands massaging her shoulders.

"I would never do that to you, what he did is completely different-"

"I don't mean it like that!" Radha yelps, not wanting her to get the wrong idea. She takes in a deep breath before continuing. "I know you would never do that. But you aren't blind to everything around us. I am to marry your uncle, you're to be married off to de Clare-"

"Ah! Don't remind me!"

"Devi, I just..." she runs a hand through her thick black hair. Her thoughts were a mess, there was a heavy burden placed on both of them. "I don't think I could exist in a world without you in it. I know I can't. And here you are putting yourself in danger every chance you get!"

"You know I'm doing this for us, for Rati and Kairas," her voice became strained thinking of their deaths. "How can I rest knowing there's a murderer amongst us?"

The Basu heiress sighed, looking away. Devi was right, and her heart ached with a strong desire to make those responsible for the fire pay. They would suffer for the pain they caused. The damage was done, but unfortunately for them, they will not be given an ounce of mercy.

Devi smiled softly, her fingers tilting Radha's chin upwards to meet her gaze. She teases, "You will never lose me, even if I come back as a bhoot I will only haunt you."

Radha rolled her eyes lovingly. "How romantic you are, Miss Sharma."

Devi smirks, her lips grazing Radha's ear. She whispers:

"There is nobody I could ever love more than I love you..."

Basu Residence, Present Day

The woman collapsed, breathing heavily. Her hair was disheveled and her hands felt dirty from the dried ink rubbing off on them. She tried rocking back and forth to quell the murmurs in her head as the tingling sensation in her fingertips gnawed away at her psyche. The man from earlier ran back, bringing a glass of water. He placed it near a bench before crouching next to her.

“Miss, are you alright?” the man tried comforting her. She remained still, unable to form coherent words.

I must be going insane.

“Y-yes, don’t make a big deal out of it,” she smoothed over the ends of her skirt. “I’m fine.”

The man looked puzzled, staring at her for a beat too long. The woman looked confused. She snapped her fingers to call for his attention.

“I apologize, it's just--you remind me of them,” he vaguely gestures at the portraits. "I've heard the rumors but seeing you face-to-face after so long..."

She rolls her eyes. “How clever you are. This may come as a shock, but we are related.”

He shakes his head, chuckling. “No, I mean you have their fire. I haven’t seen it in quite some time. You come from a family of very strong-willed women, you know.”

She was hit by a sudden pang of sadness by his intensity. No, I don't know. Questions immediately surfaced at the forefront of her mind. Who were those women? Why did she see them just now? Did they manage to protect their relationship till the very end?

She didn’t say anything, but hearing the man's words made her feel like she’d lost something she’d never known. Like a piece of her past was being erased right in front of her.

And the worst part? She didn't even know what she was missing.

#haunted by visions compelled to write #remember when I said I have extremely niche ideas? this is one of them (if this doesn't make sense I'm sorry)#romance club #kali: flame of samsara #radha basu #deviya sharma #devi x radha

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thoughtportal · 4 months ago

Text

In 2010 I interviewed the artist Gieve Patel in his studio in Mumbai. It was a bare, spartan room with a balcony open to thick tropical foliage. A few feet behind Patel, a human skull lurked on a trolley arranged with his paints and brushes. He liked having it around, he said, because it reminded him of his medical college days in the sixties. My pulse quickened—the protagonist of my then unpublished novel, Inside the Mirror, was an aspiring artist, unhappily studying medicine at her father’s direction. I questioned him further, and Patel told me something I’d never heard during all my research into art and medicine in mid-century India.

When I returned to the United States, I immediately rewrote the first pages of my novel using what I had learned. Readers now tell me they’re pulled into the opening scene of Inside the Mirror, which was published last year by the University of Nebraska Press, as my protagonist, Jaya, warily removes human bones from a gunny sack and assembles them on the floor to sketch. It’s a scene I couldn’t have invented if Gieve Patel had not recalled that every medical student in his time was given a human skeleton to study at home, a bundle of bones culled from the unclaimed bodies of the poor found in the streets.

The interview is every journalist’s primary investigative tool, and as a longtime freelancer I often use it as an integral part of my research for a fiction project. Nothing injects vitality into a manuscript like information drawn from someone’s lived experience. I always arrive at an interview (over)prepared with a long list of questions pertaining to my story, so my challenge is to recognize the opportunity to set aside my script and pursue the unexpected—like the skull.

Apart from interviews, reporters might consult original documents and records to get to the truth of a matter. Tasked with accuracy, they strive to write stories that are also palpable and immediate, often shot through with the human voice in the form of direct quotes. A fiction writer shares some of the journalist’s aims but probes, examines, invents, and elaborates narratives to create worlds and works of art.

Not all fiction requires research, of course. If a story hews close to the world you know, your insider understanding is sometimes enough. It’s when you venture to inhabit identities and communnities well beyond your experience that speaking to people and visiting places matters. A variety of primary sources can enrich fiction: diaries, journals, autobiographies, and personal blogs; original papers, transcripts, and documents; artifacts; photographs and paintings; recordings; amateur videos such as those found on YouTube; scientific papers and newspaper articles of the time. Books can ground an author in their subject, but nothing sparks the imagination like original materials and experiences laden with emotion and surprise.

Journalistic methods of discovery can benefit any genre, from historical to speculative fiction. Octavia E. Butler, the doyenne of Afrofuturism and the first science fiction writer to win a MacArthur “Genius” Fellowship, was a scrupulous world-builder and researcher who monitored rainfall levels and plant growth in her southern California neighborhood for her climate-catastrophe novel Parable of the Sower (Four Walls Eight Windows, 1993), and traveled to the Peruvian jungle to discover a model for the postapocalyptic rainforest in her Xenogenesis trilogy. William Faulkner mined multiple volumes of a plantation diary kept by a close friend’s ancestor for his novels, copying long passages by hand. Scholars now trace many incidents and details in the Nobel laureate’s fictional Yoknapatawpha County to the plantation owner’s records.

Min Jin Lee has spoken of abandoning a dry first draft of her acclaimed epic, Pachinko (Grand Central Publishing, 2017), which she had based solely on archival research, for almost twenty years until her husband’s job took her to Japan. Immersing herself in the Korean Japanese community—her novel’s subject—she discovered her central characters by interviewing people and developed a compelling narrative. Technology offers vicarious connections when direct access to a subject isn’t available. British author Samantha Harvey won the 2024 Booker Prize for Orbital (Grove Press, 2023), a brief, meditative novel on space travel that is based on countless hours she spent viewing live-stream footage from the International Space Station during the COVID lockdown.

I spoke with eight fiction writers, including winners of major literary awards, who are all journalists and whose gift for storytelling is enhanced by their skillful reporting. I wanted to learn about how they investigate their fictional stories and conjure riveting characters and scenes from complex real-world information. The trick for any writer, a few of them told me, is not to confuse the gains of research for story. Research can illuminate and lend credibility to a story, yes, but that story must first arise from fictional characters and their struggles. V. V. Ganeshananthan’s acclaimed second novel, Brotherless Night (Random House, 2023), examines the devastating costs inflicted on one family by a violent Tamil separatist movement that erupted in response to murderous government oppression in 1980s Sri Lanka. Her commitment to her story and patient craftsmanship over eighteen years won Brotherless Night the 2024 Carol Shields Prize for Fiction, one of the richest awards in literature, and the U.K.’s prestigious Women’s Prize for Fiction. From left: V. V. Ganeshananthan, Alisa Alering, and Miles Harvey. (Credit: Ganeshananthan: Sophia Mayrhofer; Alering: Lance Thorn; Harvey: Anne Ryan)

Born in the United States, Ganeshananthan, who began her career as a higher-education reporter at the Atlantic, crafts fiction that reveals a deep emotional connection to her family’s homeland. Moved by a human rights document called The Broken Palmyra, written in real time by Sri Lankan academics who witnessed a brutal phase of the civil war, she fully imagined her teenage female protagonist, Sashi. The complex novel of a shattered society emerged from information Ganeshananthan gathered over the years from a multitude of people.

“A lot of interviews were conducted in the diaspora,” Ganeshananthan says, referring to the Sri Lankan American Tamil community. “Many of the people who lived through that time period have emigrated [to the United States].” Among those she spoke to through networking in her community were former militants and those who had suffered horrific tragedies during the conflict. While journalists are cautioned not to retraumatize subjects, Ganeshananthan found that many of the people she interviewed “really, really wanted to talk, including about terrible traumatic things that had happened to them,” she says. “They had, in some cases, never been asked.”

Ganeshananthan recognized the Sri Lankan immigrant community as a valuable reservoir of knowledge. Often she connected to sources through messaging apps like WhatsApp and Signal; occasionally a translator accompanied her because she isn’t fluent in Tamil. The United States contains a wealth of such diasporas and immigrant groups, communities any writer interested in writing about can contact through their cultural associations, newspapers, local businesses, and other channels. As Min Jin Lee said on an American Masters podcast in 2024, writers must have the freedom to write stories outside their experience, with one caveat: “You need to do the homework. You need to really do the work before you write it.”

Phil Klay, a former Marine, put in much shoe-leather reporting for his National Book Award–winning debut story collection, Redeployment (Penguin Press, 2014), and subsequent novel, Missionaries (Penguin Press, 2020), which consider the human toll of warfare. In 2008, Klay returned home from a tour with the U.S. Marine Corps in Anbar province, Iraq, where he served as a public affairs officer herding journalists. Haunted by “this very fascinating, troubling, confusing world of experiences,” he was left with questions: “What is this thing that I am a part of? What is this war?”

Klay distinguishes between a “thin” and “thick” understanding of subject matter. As a press liaison in Iraq, he had a broad overview of the many moving parts of conflict, but a shallow, or “thin,” understanding of the specifics. When he sat down to write what became the title story of Redeployment, he recognized the inadequacy of his personal experience of war. “I wanted to write about it from the inside, as if I were an artilleryman, as if I were a mortuary officer, as if I were an adjutant or a foreign service officer.” So he dug deeper. “When you interview somebody in real life, it gives you a different relationship to the material, right? You feel a different level or responsibility and a certain emotional charge that changes the way you write.”

While Klay had an insider’s edge in finding Marines to talk to, he advises fiction writers to seek out interview subjects “any way you can, any connection is useful.” Cold e-mailing people is an option, as is reaching out to an academic in your subject area who might provide an introduction. For Missionaries, which delves into paramilitary operations in Colombia, Klay relied on his wife’s Colombian family to help him make connections. “It’s important to me that I do research,” says Klay, “not so that I can faithfully transfer things from the real world into the work, but so that I feel comfortable enough with the material that I can invent.”

The collision of two worlds—coconut farming in India and the ascent of AI in America—supercharge Vauhini Vara’s dystopian debut novel, The Immortal King Rao (Norton, 2022), a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize set in both Vara’s ancestral home of Andhra Pradesh, India, and the tech hub of Seattle. As a former technology reporter for the Wall Street Journal and contributor to prominent national magazines, Vara had access to tech CEOs—including Sam Altman, head of OpenAI—whom she interviewed for articles while deftly slipping in questions related to her fictional side hustle. For the India sections, Vara spoke to family members for their recollections of village life in the past. Google searches and human connections led her to experts in caste politics and the coconut industry.

For writers interested in exploring big tech or big business in fiction, Vara suggests contacting employees in middle management who are knowledgeable about their industry and more likely to be open to off-the-record conversations. While journalists must avoid conflicts of interest, fiction writers are free to find connections through friends and family members. To expand your network as you interview, she recommends asking the person you’re speaking to, “Who else should I be talking to?” She always does.

To create richer scenes in fiction, Vara advises writers to deepen the conversation with questions of context as a journalist writing a feature does. Of someone recalling past events, Vara might inquire: “What were people wearing back then?” or “What was the broader political context in which these things were happening?”

Debut author Alisa Alering began writing Smothermoss (Tin House, 2024), their surrealist Gothic tale of two sisters in Appalachia, about seven years ago, at the same time the writer started a reporting job at Science Node magazine (since shuttered). Journalistic deadlines quickly taught Alering the discipline to dispense with their tendency for ornamental writing and obsessively perfecting paragraphs in all their creative writing as well. Alering was also astonished to discover what a fertile arena science presented for fiction. An inspiring conversation with a computational biologist sowed the seeds for a future novel, which Alering anticipates will take a great deal more research before they can begin drafting.

In this era of environmental crisis and warp-speed technological change, Alering suggests writers interested in scientific discoveries consult websites like ScienceDaily and EurekAlert!, which report on the latest scientific papers across fields. Research scientists are credited on the papers and their contact information can be searched online. Many scientists are affiliated with universities, and most are passionate about their work. If the lead researcher won’t speak to you, Alering advises you work your way down the pecking order. Even a graduate research assistant can tell you a great deal. Speaking to an actual scientist, Alering says, “will remind you to think about your topic through a human lens, instead of an intellectual one.”

To build trust with strangers, Miles Harvey instructs his creative writing students at DePaul University on gathering oral histories through the art of “deep interviewing.” This involves repeated meetings with a subject to learn about their life and community. (Harvey edited a student anthology of the oral histories of Chicago gang members in 2013.) The author of several nonfiction books, one of which is about a con man, and a recent short story collection, The Registry of Forgotten Objects (Mad Creek Books, 2024), which continues his fascination with deception and illusion, Harvey believes the methods of oral history can be useful to fiction writers who seek to understand a particular environment and people. “Creative writing programs often fail their students by not giving them basic research and interview skills,” Harvey says. “I try to make sure that doesn’t happen in my own workshops.”

Ganeshananthan also told me of repeatedly going back to certain sources over the years as she composed Brotherless Night, particularly those who possessed sensitive information and did not easily trust a writer. She likened it to a beat reporter’s strategy of regularly calling their key contacts, say, the president of the city council. I find checking in occasionally with contacts over a yearslong novel project helps maintain a core group I can rely on as new questions come up.

While some writers limit research before they begin drafting a novel—filling in the blanks as they go along—Harvey enjoys plunging in. “Rabbit holes are where I live, the deeper the better,” he says with delight. Searching through old newspapers led him to some of his short stories. Newspaper databases like LexisNexis are especially useful to him. “I love the way newspaper stories place something not only in space but in time…. I’d look up a story about a con man I was writing about and see all the other stories on that page and get a real sense of the time.”From left: Cheryl Lu-Lien Tan, Rebecca Johns, and Maura Cheeks. (Credit: Johns: Kelly Dougherty; Cheeks: Adélaïde Chantilly)

On the other end of the spectrum, reporting from life is a practice well known to Cheryl Lu-Lien Tan. Her debut novel, Sarong Party Girls (William Morrow, 2016), a dissection of sexual politics in Singapore, emerged from nights out clubbing with friends in her home city. Prohibited from entering elite gentlemen’s clubs, Tan, a New York City–based veteran of the Baltimore Sun and the Wall Street Journal, tenaciously debriefed male acquaintances about what happens behind closed doors. The result is a stunning and nuanced fictional scene of female degradation. It’s also a testament to the power of a writer listening intently to another person’s experience.

Now the inaugural George R. R. Martin Chair in Storytelling at Northwestern University, Tan retains the journalistic habit of “gathering string”—collecting details that might serve a future story. Anything that strikes her interest is memorialized: overheard conversations jotted down, umpteen photos and videos shot of passing sights. Visual cues can instantly provoke memories and emotions. “This kind of daily reporting,” Tan says, “helps me when I’m writing fiction to make the scenes come alive a bit more.”

Rebecca Johns, director of the writing and publishing program at DePaul University and a former reporter with small-city newspapers, brings a journalist’s pragmatic approach to historical research: targeted and economical. For her the publisher’s deadlines are always appreciated. “If I have unlimited time, I will take unlimited time,” she admits.

When early readers of her debut novel, Icebergs (Bloomsbury, 2006), a family saga, pointed to problems in the opening scene of a plane crash in the frozen wasteland of northern Canada, Johns realized she needed better information. Her grandfather’s tale of his World War II experience and a few newspaper clippings didn’t suffice as research. “Creative Googling” led her to a group of B-24 Liberator history buffs who took her on a ride in a restored plane, giving her a clear understanding of the bomber her grandfather flew. Another group, connected to the Royal Canadian Air Force, miraculously put her in touch with the copilot who had saved her grandfather’s life. A local reference librarian in Gander, Newfoundland, sent Johns a trove of scanned newspaper articles and personally showed her around the area when she visited. Filled with new knowledge, Johns dreamed up a spectacular fictional crash much worse than the real one.

Research librarians and archivists are invaluable resources, as are small museums and historical societies devoted to specific subject areas. Some have tucked-away libraries containing rare scrapbooks of original material. Ask if they do. Archivists figured large in the writing of Acts of Forgiveness (Ballantine Books, 2024), Maura Cheeks’s debut novel about a future America in which Black citizens are offered reparation payments. Building upon a 2019 article she wrote for the Atlantic, Cheeks wrote three drafts based on streamlined academic research and interviews with experts on her subject matter. But she got stuck when her protagonist, Willie Revel, must prove she is descended from slaves to qualify for payments. The nuts and bolts of genealogical research through slaveholder records was a mystery to Cheeks, so she traveled to two archives in Mississippi, just as Willie does.

“They were pulling out documents and walking me through [the research] as if I was Willie,” Cheeks recalls of the warm, helpful archive employees. Never had she had such heartfelt conversations about race and slavery as she had with the archivists in the Deep South. “It was a very spiritual journey,” Cheeks says. Her real-life experience carries into her novel when Willie participates in a church ritual with archive employees and “felt a part of her spirit lift, freed.” The author, who is also the owner of Liz’s Book Bar in Brooklyn, New York, advocates drafting a novel first and investigating all the questions that come up afterward. But it was in her ultimate encounter with people, not books, that Cheeks discovered the most profound moments in her story.

Endless research can be an occupational hazard. Johns taught a summer historical fiction workshop where only one writer out of ten brought pages for critique—the other nine had spent years absorbed in research. One woman had spent a decade. “I feel like I have to know everything before I can start,” Johns recalls her saying.

On the flip side are writers who consider their imagination a superpower that allows them to take on any identity they please—call it the Lionel Shriver perspective. (“I am hopeful the concept of ‘cultural appropriation’ is a passing fad,” Shriver said in 2016.)

“Writers sometimes feel too confident in their ability to imagine what it’s like to be someone else,” Vara tells me. “If you’re going to try to write outside of your experience, there’s an obligation to do research of some kind, because people read fiction with somewhat of an expectation that they’re learning something about the world we actually exist in. So if you’re writing a novel set in—I don’t know—Nova Scotia, and you’ve never been to Nova Scotia, that’s fine, but it feels to me like you need to do some work to figure out what life in Nova Scotia is like.”

Once you figure it out, you can invent. From truth emerges the fictional dream.

Parul Kapur’s debut novel, Inside the Mirror (University of Nebraska Press, 2024), winner of the AWP Prize for the Novel, was longlisted for the Center for Fiction’s 2024 First Novel Prize and the 2024 New American Voices Award. As a journalist and critic, she has written for the New Yorker, the Wall Street Journal Europe, Newsday, Esquire, GQ, and the Paris Review.

#article #poets and writers magazine #writing #writers on writing #journalism #research

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universitykart2932 · 1 year ago

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https://universitykart.com/university/universitydetails/assam-down-town-university/

Assam Down Town University, Guwahati

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Assam Down Town University (ADTU) is one of the leading universities in North East India, offering its students a unique amalgamation of professional and academic excellence. ADTU has coupled the experience of top industry leaders and renowned academicians to foster a worldly approach toward life and its challenges among the students. Being the largest educational group in Assam, AdtU has more than 8000 students and over 250 faculty members.

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The students coming from various parts of India as well as from abroad, AdtU is fast growing into a center of ethnical and cultural diversity. A continuous emphasis on modern teaching methods, global links for research, students exchange programs, world class infrastructure, assured placement, diversity of students and industry-institute interactions have consistently placed.

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gpscomputeracademy999 · 2 years ago

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smdarling · 10 months ago

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CW: gore, body horror

I only ever wanted to help people.

Well, no, I suppose that isn’t true. What’s really true is that I only ever wanted adventure— to be the swashbuckling hero in all my favorite novels, the ones my English tutor hated to see me reading instead of Aristotle and Nietzsche and whatever other boring windbags a “man of my standing” needed to be well-versed in in order to make my way in the world (read:to live up to my family name. I suppose I can’t blame the man for pushing those on me all those years, after all that’s what my father paid him for).

I took a gap year, then another and another and another, much to my father’s chagrin and my mother’s endless worry. I toured India and Africa, hunting lions and tigers and hoping to find something that could be called joy, or at least satisfaction.

To my endless disappointment, I never found anything of the sort in my thrill-seeking. I never found the sensation of hero I so desperately wanted.

I got a taste of it, sometimes, throwing a few coins into a beggar’s hand or buying a loaf of bread for the starving waif in the market.

I didn’t understand it then.

I understood more when I came back home— when a letter from my mother found me two months after she wrote it to tell me Da was sick, he was hurt, and he wasn’t getting better. To say she needed help. To ask for my help.

I made my way home posthaste, but was a day late and a dollar short, as the saying goes— not that I’d ever been a dollar short in my life, but those words mean “not enough” and that too quickly became a familiar feeling.

An awful, ridiculous injury, slipping in the mud and falling, behind the horse but ahead of the cart, both legs smashed to bits. Doctors amputated, but Da went septic or maybe necrotic, wasting away slowly then all at once with grotesque, rotting wounds eating away at the stumps that were once his legs.

He was laying in state when I arrived, to be buried the next day. His ravaged lower body hidden by the casket, only his head and torso, arms crossed as if in sleep, visible. Still, nothing like Da— thinner than I’d ever imagined he could be, reminding me of too many of the vagrants I’d seen abroad for my liking. Paler than what I expected of death, grayer and waxier.

In the night, my mother asleep in a guest room, exhausted and also thinner and waxier than I’d ever seen her to be, I snuck downstairs. I opened the lower half of the casket, carefully, and feeling like the worst kind of voyeur I pulled down my father’s nicest trousers.

I nearly threw up, then spent the better part of an hour getting his trousers back up over the decayed stumps, left one barely beyond his groin and right one halfway down the thigh— the doctors had amputated more than once, then, to no avail. Ma’s letter said both legs were gone just above the knee.

Once he was in the ground, I took over the household from my mother. She perked up, she looked at me with gratitude and what I wanted to call— did call at the time— hope. I felt like a hero, for the first time in my life. All my dreams come true, but at the expense of hers.

I was too little too late for Ma, too, as it turns out. That not enough once again.

She rallied for a few months, but six months to the day of my father’s passing I brought her breakfast to a stone cold, stiff corpse. Despite the fire crackling merrily in its grate, and how she was bundled up in blankets, and that it was mid-summer and hot enough to remind me of the Indies outside, there was a chill in the room such that I knew she was gone before I took a second step inside her room.

“Broken heart”, all the doctors said as cause of death. “Grief” and “it happens to widows, sometimes”. I buried her next to Da, and wondered what to do with the giant house and vast fortune.

All the town, all the family friends and acquaintances were sympathetic of course, but the priest and the doctor and my father’s best friend who owned half the shipyard didn’t have much worthwhile advice. Sure, I could join him in the business, make my own way, but I had enough money already and the idea of charging sailors rent didn’t ring the hero bell in my head.

Still, I liked the shipyards, or at least the ocean. The saltwater and metal clanking of chains calmed my mind. I knew I couldn’t disappear again, but what adventure was here for me in this place?

I found a boy there, one night, young and thin and skin darkened by more than the sun. He’d hidden on a ship, I gathered between our poor excuses for knowledge of each other’s languages. When it’s contents had been sold, the owners turned around and upgraded, sold the ship to new men.

He’d been hiding aboard, living with the rats for a very long time.

I took him home, gave him a warm bath and clean clothes and food and a safe, comfortable bed. Once again, I became a hero, and this time I was determined not to let him die.

We became the talk of the town, he and I, but I didn’t give a damn. He was my boy, his English was getting better, and he seemed to enjoy the adventure novels as much as I did!

I awoke one night to a great crash from the drawing room, racing downstairs in naught but my pants, heart racing in my throat to find him impaled on my hunting spear. To this day I have no idea how it happened, especially the physics of it all.

The spear was sticking up out of the floor, as if the carpet wasn’t fabric but the lushest dirt of the jungle, the blood-soaked tip pointing toward the sky. His body was suspended on the spear, back arched as if in ecstasy, but his face a mask of fear. It’d gotten him from behind, and come out of his chest through his heart.

It slipped another inch down the shaft as I slapped my hands to my face.

The cops didn’t seem too interested in investigating— the crash must’ve been the murderer sneaking out but no windows were broken, no doors unlocked. They just gave me pitying looks I didn’t understand at the time, numb with horror and grief as I was.

I was back in the place of not enough for months after that, and more of a recluse besides.

So much so I almost didn’t answer when, during a storm in the middle of the night, I heard banging on my front door. I pulled on a robe this time.

A young woman- no, she was still just a girl, really- stood there, holding tight to her heavily pregnant stomach.

“You—I know you helped the boy and I thought—maybe you’d help—I need,” she stuttered in gasping breaths.

“Of course, of course! Come in!”

I grabbed her arm and began to pull her, but felt resistance and looked at her rain-soaked face.

“They say—you— the boy, did you—?”

“Help him? Yes of course I did”

“No,” she said, and flushed white with what I finally recognized as fear.

“I didn’t kill him!” I said, practically yelling in my shock. Is that what everyone thought?

She believed me, or was already too desperate to care, and came in. She was in labor, and in the dim light of my foyer I could see her thin white slip had blood on the back, at the crease of her thighs.

“In, in here!” I brought her to the couch, uncaring about the mess I knew— or thought I knew— was to become of it. “I have to wake the doctor!”

I made to leave but she grabbed my arm this time. “Don’t leave me!”

“Then I’ll get my maid to do it, but first I have to wake her!”

She nodded, hesitantly, then let me go.

I ran, uncaring of my bare feet, back into the rain and wind, across the yard to the maid’s quarters. The scene was much the same as earlier, only I was the one banging on the door.

Mattie, sweet as ever, competent as ever, put shoes on and a real coat over her nightclothes to run into town for the doctor.

I ran back to the house only to find that, once again, I was too late.

The birth was over, but there was no crying baby, for the thing had been dismembered completely. Tiny arms and tiny legs and tinier head ripped off the tiniest of torsos, then thrown across its mother’s body, cold by then with the umbilical cord wrapped tight around her neck.

I did throw up this time, right there onto my own bare, filthy feet.

That was how the doctor and Mattie found me, not 30 minutes later, kneeling in my own vomit and still heaving.

The scene with the cops was also much the same as before. I found out she was an orphan girl, taken into a brothel then kicked out when she “got herself in trouble”. No one seemed to care about the horrible fate she’d suffered, only about me.

Again, no one said it to my face but this time I was aware they all thought I’d done it. The entire town thought I’d gone mad with grief over my parents and snapped, with the boy and now the girl, and instead of caring about how they thought I’d committed these two horrific murders they still just cared about my state of mind.

Only Mattie seemed to be concerned that I may be a killer. But she practically raised me, I’d never been able to lie to her successfully, and I think she believed me when I told her, sobbing on my knees into her dress one night a week later, that I hadn’t. That I was only trying to help.

I didn’t much want to be the hero anymore, although I still wanted to help, and when Mattie came to me about her sister and brother-in-law falling on hard times— he’d lost his job and they had two young twins and were about to be evicted— I immediately said of course they could stay.

In fact, I insisted they— and Mattie too— take the house. I didn’t want to be in it after… well, after everything, and despite her misgivings Mattie understood.

I moved into the servants quarters the day they arrived.

Mattie still came and checked on me and brought most of my meals, at least for the first month. I barely noticed when she stopped, as deep into my depression and gloom as I was, but I did notice. Too late, of course.

I figured she was just busy helping her sister’s family, but after not seeing hide nor hair of her for two weeks, I figured I’d better check on them. I went outside, fully dressed for the first time in ages, and made my way home.

Sure enough, I found them, dressed in my family’s finest clothes sat around our dining table. Their heads were mounted like trophy animals on the wall behind each of their bodies, the actual trophies I’d shipped home—lion, water buffalo, antelope, zebra, cheetah— on their plates instead.

I didn’t throw up this time, nor did I protest my innocence even when no one directly accused me.

Why did no one else care? Why did no one else understand, all I wanted to do was help but everything I tried to do ended with tragedy!

A week later, I prepared the house to burn. Maybe, if that went up in flames, people would believe there was something else behind these murders.

I professed innocence this time, and was believed even though this was the one crime I did commit. At least until I said whoever did it must be the same person who killed Mattie and her family and the boy and the girl and her baby. I could see the change come over the cop’s face, and follow the wordless conversation he had with his partner.

So I wasn’t surprised when he said “maybe you should come with us, sir,” and put his hand gently on my forearm.

I really didn’t snap until then.

“I didn’t fucking kill then, I was just trying to help!” I screamed in his face, jerking violently away from his comforting touch.

His hand went to his gun, but I was already running— past the servants quarters I’d been living in, off into the forest making up the boundary of my land. It was late, moonless, and the glow from the inferno of my house wouldn’t be much help when I got deep enough into the trees.

I know these woods, I’d grown up in them, playing at being the hero for the first time. I could easily lose any pursuers here. I could get to the shipyard, hide aboard a boat like my boy did, go somewhere else, be nobody and have nothing and maybe then… maybe then I’d have some use to someone. Maybe then I could be a hero without it ending in tragedy. The house and whatever curse must be upon it would be gone.

*****

“Extra extra! Nobleman’s son found dead in the Northern Forest at dawn this morning! House burned down last night! Any witnesses with any knowledge must come forth at once!”

The town erupted into a fury at the news, what felt like everyone rushing the police at once with ideas— “that boy’s family, the girl’s estranged lover, the maid’s brother”— of course, all of it was useless conjecture. But who can blame them? They just wanted to help.

A gothic horror story where a gentleman from a good family gets haunted by something monstrous, which follows him around and keeps killing people around him at utter random, in cruel and horrifying ways. Specifically within circumstances where the protagonist has no alibi, and everything indicates that he committed the murders.

But the real horror is not that he would find himself accused of the murders, but that the people around him naturally assume that he did do it, but genuinely do not care, because the victims are never people that the society around him considers "important". The scullery maid of his household is found brutalised beyond recognition in a room where even the ceiling has been splattered with blood, and a constable of the local police brushes it off as a case of household discipline gone wrong, being horrifyingly casual with the assumption that the protagonist severely beat a girl in his service to death, and will dismiss it as an accident. The street urchin that the protagonist was seen talking with - wanting to help this poor little orphan - is found decapitated, severed head in the protagonist's fireplace. This, too, is calmly swept under the rug.

After every horrifying murder, the protagonist tries to seek help, to present the crime to authorities in hopes of getting some semblance of help, or at least clearing his own name of this, but every time it's brushed off. "These things do happen", he is reassured, like it's perfectly normal that a mansion of that size has a secret garden of unmarked graves in one shady corner.

The real horror is the ever-encompassing implication that this is perfectly normal.

#This accidentally became a heavy-handed imperialism and white savior complex is bad allegory lmao #but hey it’s writing so whatever #SMDarling writes #i don’t remember my writing tag oops

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ashishsrivastava123 · 2 days ago

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Cloud Computing Trends to Watch in India

By Ashish Srivastava, CloudFirst Technology Private Limited

Blink and you’ll miss it—India’s technology landscape moves just that fast. For all the hype cloud computing has received in recent years, there are still moments of hesitation, sometimes even confusion, among Indian businesses about where things are headed. The trends aren’t always what the headlines say. Sometimes, it’s the quiet shifts—the cultural, regulatory, and even infrastructural evolutions—that set the tone for years ahead.

At CloudFirst Technology Private Limited, we keep our ears to the ground—not just for the big disruptions, but for those subtle realignments that matter most to Indian enterprises. Here’s what seems to be resonating right now (and a few things still in the wings).

1. Multi-Cloud & Hybrid Strategies Are Becoming the Norm

It’s tempting to chase after a single cloud provider, drawn in by bundled discounts and simplicity. Yet, more Indian companies—mid-size as well as large—are spreading their bets. Hybrid cloud (blending on-premise with cloud) and multi-cloud approaches are gaining traction. Not just for risk mitigation, but for regulatory reasons, or simply to use best-of-breed features. Of course, it’s not without complexity: managing integrations, governance, and budgets doesn’t get simpler, but the flexibility and resilience are unmatched.

2. Cloud Native: Not Just Startups Anymore

Microservices, Kubernetes, serverless architectures—these were once the buzzwords of startups and global giants. Now, traditional businesses in sectors like manufacturing, logistics, and retail are experimenting with cloud-native development. Why? It’s often about speed—the ability to pivot, scale up (or down) quickly, and try new services with less risk. But I should mention: cultural change is the harder part here. Old ways of working are slowly being rewritten, and sometimes that leads to friction before it leads to success.

3. Sector-Specific Cloud Adoption

There’s no such thing anymore as a “typical” cloud project. Healthcare organizations in India have very different cloud journeys than, say, fintechs or educational startups. Data privacy is hugely important. So are compliance needs, especially with evolving data protection laws. I’ve seen many organizations look for industry-specific certifications, as well as providers who understand nuances like language, payment systems, and user access patterns unique to India.

4. The Rise of Edge Computing

With so many users in smaller towns and remote regions, expect to see the rise of edge computing—placing computing power closer to where data is generated. For Indian businesses handling IoT, retail, agriculture, or even remote learning, edge solutions help beat latency, reduce traffic costs, and make real-time analytics possible. It’s early days, but pilots are already popping up.

5. Skills, Skills, Skills

This trend cannot be overstated. Demand for cloud talent is growing much faster than supply. Organizations are ramping up investments in cloud certifications and continuous learning. But, in my experience, the most productive teams still blend deep expertise with curiosity—unafraid to try, sometimes fail, and always adapt to the next update or feature set.

6. Security & Sovereignty Take Center Stage

Cybersecurity incidents—ranging from ransom attacks on small towns to big data leaks—are on everyone’s radar. Indian organizations, especially those handling sensitive consumer or government data, are waking up to the need for stronger identity management, encryption, regular audits, and clear incident response. Government mandates around localization and sovereignty also push companies to rethink where and how data is stored. This isn’t a finished chapter; it’s ongoing work.

7. Automation & AI Everywhere

Cloud-based AI and automation aren’t just for chatbots anymore. I’m increasingly seeing businesses use them to analyze customer behavior, automate supply chains, spot fraud, and even streamline regulatory reporting. It’s not all smooth—bad data, algorithmic hiccups, and ethical questions remain—but the momentum is clear.

On a personal note, as CloudFirst Technology Private Limited, India, is honored to be nominated for the 2025 Go Global Awards in London, we find these conversations aren’t limited by borders. The event, shaped by the International Trade Council, is a gathering place for the bold, the curious, and those willing to challenge their assumptions. Being part of it is a signal that Indian businesses aren’t just following cloud trends—we’re helping make them.

So, while the list of trends could go on, the message for Indian enterprises is clear: stay curious, build skills, don’t be afraid of complexity, and remember—every trend is just a starting point. The real competitive advantage lies in how you make these possibilities your own.

#cloudtrends #India #CloudFirst #AshishSrivastava #GoGlobalAwards #InternationalTradeCouncil #digitaltransformation #2025

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skillyantra · 5 days ago

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Enhance Your Career with Scrum Master Training in Bengaluru

Right in the middle of India's technology hub, Bengaluru, Agile jobs are in great demand. Organizations are moving quickly to adopt Agile models for developing improved software more quickly. At the forefront of this revolution is the Scrum Master — a critical role in facilitating groups to deliver efficiently and in a team spirit. If you are an IT worker interested in enhancing your skills, learning Scrum Master and becoming proficient in tools such as Jira is the best decision you can make at this time.

Regardless of whether you are a developer, tester, business analyst, or fresher looking to dive into the Agile space, Jira training along with effective Scrum Master training will differentiate you in the market.

Why Scrum Master Training is Essential for Bengaluru IT Talent

Bengaluru has thousands of IT firms, ranging from multinational behemoths Infosys, Wipro, and IBM to agile startups upending industries. These firms use Agile methodologies for rapid delivery, continuous feedback, and customer-centric development.

The Scrum Master has a key role in:

Enabling Agile ceremonies

Eliminating team blockers

Enhancing communication

Propelling sprint progress

A trained Scrum Master increases team efficiency and maintains Agile principles in all projects. And in order to do that, they also require hands-on experience with tools such as Jira — the de facto standard for tracking Agile projects.

What Makes Jira Training So Important?

Atlassian's Jira is among the most popular tools for controlling Agile projects. It is utilized by teams for:

Developing and creating backlogs

Scheduling sprints and task assignments

Tracking progress using boards and burndown charts

Reporting and analytics

A Scrum Master must be proficient in Jira to guide teams, ensure workflow visibility, and support the product owner and developers. That’s why Jira training is often bundled with Scrum Master training in top institutes.

In Bengaluru, where tech projects are fast-paced and data-driven, companies look for certified Scrum Masters with hands-on Jira knowledge.

What You’ll Learn in Scrum Master Training

An effective Scrum Master training course is not all theory. It equips you to handle actual Agile work environments. This is what a typical training course covers:

Scrum framework: roles, artifacts, and events

Agile principles and mindset

Leading and coaching Agile teams

Sprint planning, reviews, and retrospectives

Daily Scrum and backlog refinement

Handling conflicts and collaboration with stakeholders

Jira training for tracking and reporting projects

For Bengaluru professionals, this training is your golden ticket to switch to Agile profiles and become leaders of high-performance teams.

Career Advantages of Scrum Master Training and Jira Expertise

Experts who undergo Scrum Master training and excel at Jira are most sought after by:

IT Services and Consulting

Product-based startups

E-commerce businesses

Fintech and HealthTech spaces

Here's how your career will improve:

Switch to Scrum Master or Agile Project Manager profiles

20–30% salary increase upon certification

Global Agile team collaboration opportunities

Better job security and promotion chances

Through joining a program that blends Scrum Master training with Jira training, you become a standout candidate compared to others in Bengaluru's booming job market.

Skill Yantra: The Best Scrum Master Institute (Based in Pune, Serving Bengaluru)

If you are in Bengaluru and looking for good training, then Skill Yantra is the answer — highly acclaimed as the best Scrum Master training institute from Pune with online courses available across India.

Why Skill Yantra?

✅ Live instructor-led training by certified Agile experts

✅ Scrum theory complete + live Jira implementation

✅ Case studies and practical assignments

✅ CSM, PSM, and other certification preparation

✅ Resume preparation, mock interview, and job assistance

✅ Weekend batches and weekday batches for working professionals

Although based in Pune, Skill Yantra's training courses are 100% online and reliable to hundreds of students across Bengaluru, Chennai, Hyderabad, and Delhi.

Why Skill Yantra Stands Out?

The majority of training institutes care only about certifying you. Skill Yantra does one better — they equip you for real Agile jobs at top companies.

Their courses comprise:

Project-based Jira tasks

Scrum Master role simulations

Coaching and mentoring by industry experts

Access to community forums and job boards

This combination of Scrum Master training and Jira training makes you job-ready and confident when you walk into a job interview.

Who Should Attend This Training in Bengaluru?

The Scrum Master training along with Jira training is ideal for:

Developers and QA engineers looking to transition into leadership

Business analysts and product managers looking for Agile fluency

Freshers who want to join the IT sector

Project coordinators who want to switch to Agile roles

Team leads who handle Agile delivery

If you're in Bengaluru, this workshop can change your life. You'll learn how Agile works in practice, communicate with product teams, and facilitate Scrum ceremonies like a pro.

[email protected]

91-9611796309

#scrumtraining #classes #scrumonline #scrum master training #scrum certification #trainig #scrum online training

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utkarsh6 · 5 days ago

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Master Stock Market Skills With This In-Depth Stock Market Course By ICFM Institute In India

Introduction: A Practical Stock Market Course That Equips You for Real-World Market Success

Today’s fast-paced financial environment demands both skill and strategy to make informed trading decisions. Whether you're a beginner, a student, or a working professional, understanding how the stock market operates can open many doors. The best way to begin your journey in finance is through a structured and reliable Stock Market Course. Among all institutes offering financial education in India, ICFM – Stock Market Institute stands out as a leader. Known for its real-time learning, expert faculty, and industry-relevant training, ICFM offers a Stock Market Course designed to prepare you for the real world of trading and investing.

The Stock Market Course offered by ICFM is not just a bundle of lectures. It is a hands-on, practical experience where you will learn how the markets work, how to read charts, identify trends, manage risks, and take trades using proven strategies. Each session is delivered by experienced market professionals who know how to simplify complex concepts for better understanding and application.

Why Choose ICFM Institute for Your Stock Market Course in India

ICFM is a pioneer in financial market education and has earned a reputation for quality and credibility. Their Stock Market Course is uniquely designed for Indian market conditions and includes both theoretical knowledge and live market practice. The biggest advantage of ICFM’s Stock Market Course is that it is suitable for people from all walks of life. Whether you are a full-time employee, housewife, business owner, or college student, the institute offers flexible learning options to suit your schedule.

The faculty at ICFM consists of seasoned traders, SEBI-registered analysts, and experienced educators. They bring years of market experience and provide real-world insights during training. The Stock Market Course curriculum is regularly updated to include the latest trends, tools, and changes in market behavior. Unlike other platforms that offer pre-recorded classes, ICFM ensures each student gets personal attention and guidance.

This makes ICFM’s Stock Market Course not just informative but transformational. Students learn how to develop a trading mindset, control emotions, analyze risks, and follow proper money management techniques.

What You Will Learn in the ICFM Stock Market Course

The Stock Market Course by ICFM covers a wide range of essential topics. It starts with the basics, such as what a stock is, how stock exchanges work, and the role of brokers. As the course progresses, students dive deeper into important areas like chart reading, technical analysis, market indicators, candlestick patterns, moving averages, and much more.

The Stock Market Course also includes modules on futures and options, intraday trading, swing trading, and positional strategies. You’ll learn how to identify entry and exit points, how to set stop losses, and how to build your own trading system. In addition, the Stock Market Course teaches risk management, capital protection, and psychology of trading, which are often ignored but critical for long-term success.

Each concept is demonstrated live during trading hours so you can see how strategies play out in the real market. You’ll practice trades on live platforms and get feedback from instructors to refine your approach. This type of exposure is what sets ICFM’s Stock Market Course apart from others.

Benefits of Enrolling in the Stock Market Course from ICFM Institute

There are many benefits to enrolling in a Stock Market Course at ICFM. One of the most important is that students gain the ability to trade independently. After completing the course, you won’t need to rely on tips or external advice. You’ll be able to analyze stocks, spot trends, and execute trades on your own.

Another great benefit of this Stock Market Course is career advancement. Students who complete ICFM’s program often go on to become equity analysts, traders, investment advisors, or even financial influencers. Some open their own trading firms or work with broking companies. The certification provided by ICFM is recognized and adds credibility to your resume.

The Stock Market Course also helps you grow your personal wealth. With the knowledge you gain, you’ll learn how to invest your savings smartly, create passive income, and secure your financial future. No matter your background, this course gives you the tools to succeed in any market condition.

ICFM’s Approach: How the Stock Market Course Is Delivered

ICFM offers both classroom-based and online training for its Stock Market Course. The classes are interactive, meaning students can ask questions, request clarifications, and get immediate help. Even in the online mode, the sessions are live—not recorded—and every student receives individual attention.

Each batch is small to maintain high-quality instruction. The Stock Market Course is taught in simple Hindi or English, depending on the learner’s preference. All materials, including study notes and trading software, are provided as part of the course package.

Even after completion, ICFM offers post-training support. Students can revisit classes, attend extra sessions, and contact faculty for any trading-related doubts. This ongoing support is another reason why learners rate ICFM’s Stock Market Course among the best in India.

Conclusion: Build Your Financial Foundation with ICFM’s Stock Market Course Today

Success in the stock market isn’t just about luck—it’s about knowledge, practice, and discipline. If you're serious about learning how the market works and want to start trading or investing confidently, enrolling in a Stock Market Course is your first step.

ICFM – Stock Market Institute offers the most practical and professional Stock Market Course in India. With real-time guidance, structured curriculum, expert trainers, and ongoing support, ICFM ensures you gain not just education but also confidence and skill.

Make the smart move today. Join ICFM’s Stock Market Course and start building your future in the world of finance.