#aroma biryani

[justthinkingaboutlouis]

.

[harmonysanreads]

could we get more of being alhaithams wife… he has me in a chokehold omg waxing remorse, waning candlelight and flickering candlelight were so good‼️

btw do u take emoji anons? id like to be 🎀 if u do!

Hell yes, I thought you'd never ask :) I took my time with this, hope you don't mind and welcome abroad dearest 🎀<3

Desire, Denial, Demise

yandere!al haitham x f!reader

cw(s): yandere, drugging (not to reader), lots of tension, allusions to stockholm syndrome

wc : 2.5k+

[ previously in this au ]

The curry is boiling.

The strange symphony of the bubbling broth, the heated haze veiling around the kitchen and the appetising aroma of spices open the gateway for you to temporarily lose yourself somewhere far, far away. You're thinking of everything and nothing at the same time. Your fingers, victimized to small cuts from occasional slip ups during chopping vegetables, are fiddling with a tiny vial, its exact contents are unknown even to you but its apparent enough that its less palatable than the steaming curry.

It would seem as if you'd been at this practice for some time now, sometimes taking off the clog of the vial to slightly dip it at the dish only to pull away before any of the substance actually fell only to clog it up again and resume stirring the curry instead. The curry itself is almost ready but you're still unable to reach a decision. You seem to be far more interested in the rhythm of the bubbles appearing and disappearing, a peculiar peace enveloping your heart, so much so that even the rising temperature around the stove fails to have your attention swayed.

What does break your trance is the pair of firm arms snaking around your waist and an embrace, so deceptively loving and domesticated, because, you're neither allowed inner peace nor to pass your attention to something that wasn't your husband.

Alhaitham has a talent for making almost anything appear normal to outsiders, by which you'd imply the oh-so loving gestures he initiates with the excuse of your marital bond. In truth, they're as one sided as his love for you and if this was even just a few months ago you would've resisted but not now, for you've learned. Learned how to tempt the monster with scraps of its desires, promising something greater and slowly gaining its trust, so that when eventually you shatter it to irreparable bits, the monster would feel ten times the hurt it'd inflicted upon you.

Or, that's what you've been scheming to do to your beloved husband and you're hoping the poison containing vial you not-so-subtly hide away from his gaze would just do the trick.

“What do you have there?”

You vaguely lean towards his abdomen (not like there's much space to considering how close he already holds you), eyes still fixated on the stove.

“Curry,”

“And?” he probes further, whether its intentional or not you can't deduce from his even tone.

Your eyes move towards the right, you sense him doing the same, “More curry,”

“And.. soup. I had intended to make biryani but you arrived so early, sorry.”

It's not like you're completely lying, you were hoping to have some more time alone. After all, having more varieties of dishes would've made it less suspicious when you refused to eat a single one. You don't even have to turn around to see some of Alhaitham's facial muscles churn in distaste against your cheek, you've seen it more times than you cared to count. Alhaitham doesn't like soup, or anything that hinders his peaceful reading time but there's a counter theory in your head, suspecting whether he'd noticed something amiss yet. Because if he did, he's doing a splendid job at pretending that he hasn't.

You're not so easily thrown off-the-edge anymore either, you learned how to act from the master himself. Though, you would be lying if you said this sudden low guarded approach wasn't irking you the slightest. You hadn't wrapped your arms around his shoulders nor pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek upon his return like you usually do to act like the loving housewife you aren't, you didn't greet him with the usual ‘welcome home’ that you know makes his heart melt and on top of that, you're fidgeting with your surroundings. You don't dare to think this routine you'd painstakingly followed the past months to lower his guard actually had this much affect, this is Alhaitham you're dealing with.

So you're only left with the hypothesis that he has taken notice and will jumpscare you with it any moment, as much as you hoped against it. Finally, after what felt like forever, you turn off the stove and face the Acting Grand Sage, he doesn't loosen his hold in the slightest.

“How about you freshen up while I serve the dinner? You look like you've got a headache— annoying scholars again?”

You push aside the urge to pinch his cheeks, opting to instead hold his face in your hands with as much delicacy as you can gather and you almost falter when he answers by leaning into your touch. No matter how many times you've done this, you can never take his reciprocations seriously. Or rather, you can't believe just how easy it gets him to do so with each passing day.

For a moment, you feel like a wicked villain. Alhaitham looks so at peace in your palms (literally), his innocence right now could convince anyone that he hadn't committed any of the atrocities he did to get you where you were at now. You hear the echo of a nagging thought, this really might've been the ideal married life so many dreamed of ; a husband that views you above everything else, a secure place to stay and stability, overall.

Alhaitham would often tell you how people would kill to be loved in the way he loves you, you'd never actually let his theories in your head but now, you found yourself hesitating. All this strenuously built trust would crumble like the sand palace Kaveh had planned to make in a drunken stupor should you get caught and in the off chance that you don't, this.. almost, almost perfect marriage life would too if you really poured out the poison from the vial.

“Alright,” Alhaitham presses one kiss to your palm and leaves. Leaves.

You wonder if Alhaitham was hiding more surprises for the night, for, he never lets you off easy. You watch his silhouette vanish within the inner-quarters of his house, you peak around the corner to see if he was hiding there or not and— nothing. As much as you despised acknowledging it, your husband was always an uncertain amount of steps ahead. You might be his weak-spot but even you haven't been an exception to his overwhelming scrutiny, because, a wise man knows to guard his weakness well.

So, for that man to just leave without gauging the cause of your peculiar behavior like he's always (or, now that you think about it ; when was the last time he'd tweaked with your mind? three months ago? four? five?) done sends your nerves ablaze. You take out the vial from where you'd tucked it in, almost dropping it because of your restless fingers. You're still facing the entrance of the kitchen, the vial is brought up to your eye-level. The translucent liquid lacks any indication of it actually being a poison, it came as the byproduct of your last escape attempt months ago ; exchanged with all your remaining mora from an equally shady merchant — you didn't care then, you knew you'd be caught so might as well take a weapon with you back, right? At present though, you found yourself slowly regretting that decision, unless you're to experiment with it personally, there's really no way for you to be certain.

You shake your head, nonsense. You aren't the one dying when you still have hope, you weren't the one who'd forced someone to be their spouse with methods that make you shudder upon recollection, you deserved freedom and he, deserved proper punishment for his crimes.

You take off the cog of the vial, glancing one last time towards the direction Alhaitham went. You still your hand from shaking and celestia, you can still feel Alhaitham's lingering kiss there.

Without even looking you pour the entire vial of the substance into one of the pots and then toss the vial out of the window. You grasp at the kitchen counter, heaving.

You did it.

-

The next time you face Alhaitham, he looks eerily pleasant. You do your duty of serving him the food, hesitating on putting the curry on his plate and you almost consider throwing it out with some half-assed excuse but gather your resolve again. You will see an end to this. Keeping your expression placid, you take a seat on the opposite end of the table and serve yourself something to avoid suspicion. It's as quiet as it normally is since neither you nor Alhaitham are that talkative while eating, you sometimes sneak a glance towards him to see if there's any change ; he seems to notice this.

“You're awfully interested in my face today, is something the matter?”

“Ah, I was just wondering if you're finding the food palatable.”

Your husband tilts his head, you never ask for his opinions regarding anything ; was today a special occasion by any chance? Alhaitham searches his memories, no, your anniversary passed last month and even then, your effort for that day wasn't anything remarkable.

“Anything made by you is good,”

Alhaitham may mistake your aversion of gaze as fluster because of his unexpectedly suave comment but in reality, his way-too-honest answer struck your conscience. You shook your head, counting the seconds rather impatiently, no appetite aiding you to finish your plate.

Why isn't the poison taking affect?

Momentarily, the merchant's twinkling eyes upon handing you the vial flashes in your mind and it inclines you to think that you may have been scammed. All the while, Alhaitham seems to have finished his plate, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief.

“[Y/N], be honest, is something bothering you?”

You nearly jump out of your seat at his voice and your husband looks at you with more concern but asks for no further clarification.

Yes, you almost utter out, “No,”

Your eyes dart around the dinner table where most dishes still lay untouched, Alhaitham seemed to have eaten very little. When your eyes settle on the bowl of soup, a dreading realization strikes.

Don't tell me.. I didn't poison the soup instead, did I..?

“Actually,” you cringe at the sudden high pitch of your voice but it does its job in halting Alhaitham from getting up and possibly making his way to you, his eyes press you to continue. It only occurs to you then, what are you supposed to tell him now? ‘I poisoned this soup that I know you clearly dislike because I hate you so please, gobble it up and end my misery?’

This isn't the time for jokes, wake up!

“Haitham, to be honest, I prepared that soup for you with your stress induced state in mind. But.. ” you wet your lips and choke out the rest, voice fading in a sad adagio, “Since you don't like soup, I guess I'll just have to throw it out.”

It takes everything in your will-power to not break the pathetic act and slap yourself. You don't dare look up and see your husband's expression, already mentally preparing him to drop the bomb and interrogate you on all your weird mannerisms tonight.

In no way will Alhaitham of all people buy that, I wouldn't believe that, not even a rat will believe that, whoa—

You expected exactly two outcomes after your sad excuse of convincing (brought fresh to you by past experiences) ; 1. He tells you to eat half of the soup first, probably with the surface level reason that he won't be able to finish all of it and when you inevitably refuse, the truth will be revealed and 2. No need for roundabout approaches, you wouldn't be surprised if Alhaitham knew your scheme since the start. But no amount of past experience could prepare you for when your conniving husband took the bowl of the soup that he repeatedly said he despised and gulped it down in one go, without an ounce of hesitation — all because you muttered you made it especially for him?

(Admittedly, you feel a little touched.)

You stop gaping like a fish and with a fake cough chastise him, “Dear me, no one was stealing that from you, you could've just taken your time — what if you burned your throat?”

Alhaitham chugs down a glass of water, he doesn't look the most content with that decision either but seeing you worry over him like this... he has no regrets.

“The faster, the better, no? I really would just like to go sleep now.”

Hmm, he wasn't entirely wrong about that. The faster the poison takes effect the better it is for you but, he doesn't need to know that part. It's dead silent again, none of you seem compelled to move, your focus is on Alhaitham solely ; in the first few seconds, he seemed fine but then he started to loosen the collar of his shirt, an obvious expression of discomfort painting his normal poker face. You lean forward in your chair, unable to tear your eyes away.

“On a second thought, you were right. Maybe I shouldn't have eaten so hastily. It feels...so...hot...?”

Alhaitham's voice fades to incoherent words, he brings a hand to the locks of his gray hair, laboured breaths filling the vacancy of the dining room.

And then, his head meets the wood of the table.

You push back your chair, unable to believe the sight before you. That was fast, way too fast, perhaps. You take ginger steps towards Alhaitham's chair, when you're beside the Scribe's unmoving body, the weight of the situation drops on you unmercifully.

Wait wait wait, t-then this means that... I.....I killed my husband...

You can feel your vision blurring, no no, you're supposed to be happy! Happy that his tyranny is finally over! Happy that he'll no longer be able to hurt you or any other being for that — happy that he's gone.

These are tears of happiness, right? Right?

You hands move to wipe them furiously, you don't believe it, there is no way he'll die that easily. You'd fantasized about this moment so many times ; when the colour from his disgustingly beautiful eyes fades, you'll be on your merry way from this hellish life, you'll be allowed to wander anywhere, befriend anyone — but now, such desired dreams have lost their colour, as well. With no regard to your escape plans, your hand reaches for his unmoving figure, hunched over the table ; your senses are closing in, you can see nothing but him, you can hear nothing but the ringing in your ears and you're not sure what happens afterwards.

One moment, you feel your skin barely graze his shirt and the next, something warm springs up, grabs your wrist and your back slams against the table, legs dangling over...

Huh?

There is Alhaitham, up and about, albeit he looks.. perturbed and delirious. Extremely delirious.

“Sly woman, what were you thinking?”

Heated skin, reddened face, hearts in the eyes—

These symptoms, oh no...

You try to shove him off and create as much distance as possible, the effect your puny struggling has is non-existent ; he only holds you more suffocatingly in his lap, closing in slowly slowly slowly—

That is the moment you accept ; you have been scammed, just not in the way you were speculating you've been.

[beautyandlifestyleblog86]

Spices can enhance the flavor of a wide variety of foods and can take a dish from ordinary to extraordinary. Experimenting with different spices and flavor combinations can help you discover new and exciting ways to make your meals taste mouth-watering good.

Examples of food and spice combinations:

1. Meat dishes: Spices can add depth and complexity to meat dishes such as roasted chicken, grilled steak, or slow-cooked ribs. Common spices used with meat include garlic, paprika, cumin, and rosemary.

2. Soups and stews: Spices are essential for adding flavor to soups and stews. Spices like cumin, coriander, turmeric, and chili powder can transform a simple soup or stew into a flavorful and comforting meal.

3. Rice and grain dishes: Spices can elevate the taste of rice and grain dishes such as pilafs, biryanis, and risottos. Spices like saffron, cardamom, cinnamon, and nutmeg can add warmth and complexity to these dishes.

4. Vegetables: Spices can add flavor and interest to vegetable dishes, making them more appealing and delicious. Spices like cumin, turmeric, smoked paprika, and chili flakes can turn simple roasted vegetables into a flavorful side dish.

5. Baked goods: Spices are essential for adding warmth and flavor to baked goods such as cakes, cookies, and bread. Spices like cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, and cloves can add a delicious aroma and taste to sweet treats.

[androgynous-bhajipav]

Short story for the Desi Secret Santa Exchange

Blue and lilac melded into a different colour entirely to signal the onset of dusk. Cars, trucks, and motorcycles whooshed past her on the street. The air was light with the sounds of chatter and laughter over a cup of coffee from the adjoining café. Anuja stood in front of the bookshop with a frown, left foot tapping against the pavement in an uncertain manner.

Odd. Their bookshop meets were sacred! Tarun never arrived late to these before. Anuja stared at her surroundings, stared at her white shoes, at her blank phone screen - everywhere. She tried calling a few times to no response.

It had been Anuja's dream to study fashion design in Paris for so long and she was finally here. The first couple of months were like a passing storm cloud. Everything happened all at once- welcome parties, assignment deadlines, one night stands, a life-altering realisation. And she was alone through it all.

Well, not exactly. She'd video-call Naani over Skype every week. Naani would rant about whatever Nanaji's newest peculiar obsession was (dal fry, that one political party, that one sceen from that one Akshay Kumar movie) and Anuja would rant about the latest event of her life (Mireille and Daisy's party, finally visiting the Louvre, finally making a friend). Naani, the badass woman that she was, had been to Paris for studying herself in the early sixties. She'd met Edith Piaf too! And that made it a bit more tolerable, her anecdotes. Anuja would try to do the things her Naani had done decades ago and feel amazing.

But right now, Anuja wasn't thinking about her grandmother. She was thinking about how damn LATE Tarun was! A quick glance at her wrist-watch told her it was almost seven and the probability of Tarun finally showing up, all windswept hair and flushed cheeks, dwindled by the minute.

A couple months ago Anuja had been terribly homesick. The aroma of dum biryani would creep into her dreams unprecedented only for her to absently munched on a random sandwich from her refrigerator the next morning. The yearning to dance manically to Diljit Dosaanjh's new song playing from crappy speakers until her feet gave way was ever-present. Maybe she should've listened to her father and started preparing for NEET. Maybe she should've run away with her friends from Mumbai and started a rock band. And that's when she met Tarun.

God, she was going to lose it whenever Tarun showed up next! He'd stood her up thrice now. Anuja understood when he canceled movie night, and forgot about the study date in the library. But this was the last straw.

Sighing, she retraced her steps and called Naani first thing on reaching her flat. It took a second for the connection to get established, but as soon as she heard the "what's wrong, beta?" all thoughts came tumbling out.

Turns out, every assignment wasn't interesting. But you still had to meet every deadline and hell, Anuja was a scholarship student. She Could. Not. Afford. To get a bad remark. She'd succeeded so far but only barely, spending the night before completing it from start to finish, fuelled by caffeine. There were plenty who got better remarks, wider smiles and more approving nods than her. It was a long road.

"What's wrong, beta?" Naani asked again, once she was done ranting. Damn.

Everything. Okay, maybe that was a bit dramatic. Maybe she should maje coffee. Maybe she should hunt all over for Tarun, hold him at gunpoint and ask him why he was canceling stuff. And while she was at it, just ki-

Maybe she could catch the next flight and return to India. Yeah, maybe that'd make things so much better!

"EVERYTHING!" She groaned and her Naani laughed heartily.

"Acquired a flair for the dramatics already, meri choti si jaan has already morphed into a true Parisienne!" Naani exclaimed and Anuja rolled her eyes. (Spoiler alert: she was also smiling wide)

Her grandmother looked above the screen for a second, probably to check on Nanaji, before meeting her eyes. There was an uncertain silence before Naani broke it by asking, "Who's the boy?"

What boy?

"Naani, chalo bhi! I'm not interested in dating. This is a crisis. I kind of want to return to India. Aapka aloo paratha yaad aa raha hai, bhaad mein gaye bell bottoms!"

She meant it as a light comment. But tears had made their way across her cheeks. She had no real friends here, except for Tarun but well that depends. Mireille and Daisy invited her to ONE party and never looked her in the eye again. Same with everyone else. Anuja was alone here, polar opposite of how she was in Mumbai. And she was losing interest in stuff anyway.

"Louvre aur Eiffel Tower toh roj dikh jaata hai, Naani Maa, but there's nothing left for me here. Maybe there never was-"

"Chup kar," Naani said abruptly, crossing her arms. "Ever since you were little, beta, you were obsessed with clothes. I'd take you to the Growels Mall and you'd stare at those mannequins for hours, poetry spinning away in your head. Your arms itching to hold the dresses, to feel its fabrics and study it carefully."

Anuja had stopped crying. She longed to tell Naani that people change, feelings fade, but she remained quiet. Naani had a strange expression on her face, inscrutable.

"I want to you to know that humaare darwaazein hamesha khule hai, Anu, but I want you to think over thus for a week. Don't make any rash decisions you'll regret later-"

She stared at a point above the screen again, eyebrows raised. "Jevaayla vaadhlay, Pakya," she said with barely concealed exasperation.

Anuja laughed. This wad golden- Naani almost never called Nanaji by his name unless she was super irritated and even then, she'd use this nickname his siblings addressed him with!

That's when she decided. She'd been through four months of overwhelming stuff; a week was shorter than the time it took to convince Naani once that there was no lizard in the house. Anuja could manage. Someone chose that moment to ring the doorbell and Anuja greeted her grandmother goodbye.

It was Tarun, with windswept hair and flushed cheeks. About fucking time.

_

Seven days later.

Tarun was cooking a rather nice-smelling dum biryani in their little flat kitchen using the groceries they'd brought in last night. Anuja was pacing back and forth in the passage, overthinking every little thought she'd been so sure of last night. She was going to tell Naani today. She was going to tell Naani that-

"I want to stay in Paris and complete my education! And then, I want to go to Mumbai to start something of my own," she blurted out, all in one breath.

And the other thing. Well, Anuja had listened to numerous Lata Mangeshkar songs this week and everything else on their Spotify Blend to try and find the right words for this moment. Tarun walked out of the kitchen looking like a greek god and sat next to her on the couch. He and Naani exchanged greetings.

What if Naani thought she wasn't following her heart and only staying in Paris for Tarun? Well, Tarun was certainly a part of it. They made each other better. And maybe getting him to model all the outfits Anuja made was another plus point.

"Something else you'd like to tell me, chhakuli?"

Wait, did she know? Was it that obvious? And most importantly, why was she smiling? Was she seriously okay with it?

Ah, right. She'd been absently holding Tarun's hand the whole time. Naani narrowed her eyes and Anuja's blood ran cold. "You break my granddaughter's heart, you break my heart, clear? And I'd prefer to keep it intact for now."

"Of course, Aunty!"

Anuja was in Paris, living a dream, seeing another one - Mumbai - at midnight. She was certain she'd go far in life. She was certain she'd be okay. Well, home is where the heart is and sometimes that home is a person.

______________________________________________

Hope you liked your Secret Santa @vellhighbandi ! I hope there aren't too many grammatical errors here haha. And I swear the story was MUCH longer than this so if you like, I could send you the deleted scenes separately. And if you hate this, I'll write something else. Wish you a belated Merry Christmas!

[beautifulindianculture]

Embracing the Rich Tapestry of Beautiful Indian Culture

In the vibrant mosaic of world cultures, few can rival the sheer diversity and beauty encapsulated by the Beautiful Indian culture. Spanning thousands of years and encompassing a multitude of traditions, languages, cuisines, and art forms, India stands as a testament to the richness of human heritage. Let's embark on a journey through the kaleidoscope of Beautiful Indian culture, exploring its myriad hues and timeless splendor.

From the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas to the sun-kissed shores of Kerala, Beautiful Indian culture manifests in myriad forms, each region boasting its own unique customs and traditions. Whether it's the exuberant dance forms of Bollywood or the serene chants of ancient Vedic hymns, there's a profound sense of beauty and harmony that permeates every aspect of Indian life. This cultural kaleidoscope serves as a testament to the country's enduring spirit and its ability to celebrate diversity in all its glory.

One cannot delve into the essence of Beautiful Indian culture without acknowledging its deep-rooted spirituality. With a history steeped in ancient wisdom and philosophical insights, India has given birth to some of the world's most profound spiritual traditions, including Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, and Sikhism. The sacred rivers, majestic temples, and bustling bazaars all bear witness to the spiritual fervor that courses through the veins of Indian society, uniting people in a shared quest for enlightenment and inner peace.

A hallmark of Beautiful Indian culture is its reverence for tradition and heritage, which finds expression in a myriad of rituals and festivities. Whether it's the colourful revelry of Holi, the solemnity of Diwali, or the joyous festivities of Eid, Indians take great pride in preserving their cultural legacy and passing it down through generations. These celebrations serve not only as occasions for merriment but also as reminders of the values and beliefs that bind communities together in a tapestry of shared history and collective identity.

At the heart of Beautiful Indian culture lies a deep appreciation for the arts, which find expression in a dazzling array of forms, from intricate classical dance forms like Bharatanatyam and Kathak to the melodious strains of Hindustani and Carnatic music. Artisans and craftsmen across the country continue to keep age-old traditions alive, weaving intricate patterns into textiles, carving exquisite sculptures from stone, and painting vibrant scenes that capture the essence of Indian life. In a world where modernity often threatens to overshadow tradition, these artistic expressions serve as a poignant reminder of India's rich cultural heritage.

Beautiful Indian culture is also synonymous with culinary excellence, boasting a diverse array of flavours and spices that tantalise the taste buds and nourish the soul. From the fiery curries of the north to the aromatic biryanis of the south, Indian cuisine is a celebration of flavour and aroma, with each dish telling a story of tradition, innovation, and culinary mastery. Whether it's street food vendors dishing out spicy snacks or Michelin-starred chefs reinventing age-old recipes, the gastronomic landscape of India is as diverse and vibrant as the culture that inspires it.

In the midst of rapid urbanisation and globalisation, Beautiful Indian culture faces the challenge of preserving its traditional heritage while embracing the opportunities of the modern world. Yet, amidst this dynamic interplay of old and new, there remains an enduring sense of pride and resilience that continues to fuel India's cultural renaissance. From the bustling metropolises of Mumbai and Delhi to the tranquil villages of Rajasthan and Kerala, the spirit of Beautiful Indian culture shines bright, illuminating the path forward with its timeless beauty and boundless creativity.

In conclusion, Beautiful Indian culture stands as a testament to the indomitable spirit of a nation that celebrates diversity, embraces tradition, and cherishes the beauty of life in all its myriad forms. From the majestic monuments of its ancient past to the vibrant rhythms of its modern-day festivals, India's cultural tapestry is a testament to the enduring legacy of a civilisation that has thrived for millennia. As we continue to navigate the complexities of the modern world, may we always remember to pause and appreciate the timeless splendour of Beautiful Indian culture, a treasure trove of heritage and inspiration for generations to come.

[african-travel-n-tours]

How to Plan the Perfect Vacation in Zanzibar

A Tropical Paradise Awaits

Imagine yourself on a pristine beach, white sand warming your toes as crystal-clear turquoise water laps at the shore. Zanzibar, a Tanzanian archipelago off the coast of East Africa, is more than just a beautiful beach destination – it's a cultural melting pot steeped in history and brimming with adventure. Let's delve into 10 reasons why Zanzibar should be your next tropical escape:

1. Paradise Found: Pristine Beaches

Zanzibar boasts some of the most stunning beaches in the world. Imagine sinking your toes into soft, white sand and cooling off in the crystal-clear turquoise waters of the Indian Ocean. These idyllic beaches are perfect for sunbathing, swimming, snorkeling, and indulging in various water sports.

2. A Realm of Marine Beauty

Beyond the pristine beaches lies a thriving underwater world. Zanzibar offers exceptional snorkeling and diving opportunities, where vibrant coral reefs teeming with colorful fish come alive. Keep your eyes peeled for playful dolphins, majestic sea turtles, and a variety of exotic fish species.

3. A Tapestry of History and Culture

Stone Town, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, is Zanzibar's cultural heart. Wander through its narrow streets lined with historic buildings, a captivating blend of African, Arabic, Indian, and European influences. Explore the bustling markets, magnificent palaces, and ancient mosques, each whispering stories of Zanzibar's rich past.

4. Unveiling the Spice Island

Zanzibar has earned the nickname "Spice Island" for a reason. Embark on a fascinating spice tour and discover the island's fragrant treasures. Visit spice plantations, learn about the cultivation and processing of spices like cloves, cinnamon, vanilla, and nutmeg, and tantalize your senses with their unique aromas.

5. Encountering Unique Wildlife

Zanzibar offers more than just stunning beaches and historical wonders. Explore Jozani Chwaka Bay National Park, a haven for unique wildlife. Spot the rare red colobus monkey swinging through the trees, and keep your eyes peeled for a diverse array of bird species and other animals in their natural habitat.

6. Adventures on the Water

For the thrill-seeker, Zanzibar offers a variety of exciting water activities. Sail the turquoise waters on a traditional dhow, a wooden sailboat with billowing sails. If you're looking for an adrenaline rush, try kite surfing or windsurfing, harnessing the power of the wind. Deep-sea fishing enthusiasts can cast their lines and test their skills against the mighty denizens of the Indian Ocean.

7. A Culinary Journey

Zanzibar's cuisine is a delightful fusion of African, Arabic, Indian, and European influences. Indulge in fresh seafood dishes, savor the sweetness of tropical fruits, and tantalize your taste buds with the aromatic spices grown on the island. Sample traditional Zanzibari dishes like pilau rice, biryani, and flavorful seafood curries.

8. Rejuvenation and Wellness

After a day of exploration, pamper yourself at one of Zanzibar's luxurious resorts or spas. Indulge in rejuvenating treatments like massages, facials, and body wraps, allowing your mind and body to unwind in a tranquil setting. Yoga retreats and meditation sessions amidst serene natural surroundings provide the perfect opportunity to reconnect with yourself.

9. A Dazzling Array of Markets

Immerse yourself in the vibrant atmosphere of Zanzibar's bustling markets. Explore stalls overflowing with local crafts, colorful textiles, and unique souvenirs. Interact with friendly locals, practice your bargaining skills, and discover hidden treasures.

10. Breathtaking Sunsets

As the day draws to a close, witness the magic of a Zanzibar sunset. The sky explodes in a kaleidoscope of colors – fiery orange, vibrant pink, and deep purple – as the sun dips below the horizon over the Indian Ocean. This breathtaking spectacle is the perfect way to end a day in paradise.

Conclusion

Zanzibar offers something for every traveler – pristine beaches, vibrant culture, thrilling adventures, and delectable cuisine. Whether you seek relaxation on the beach, cultural immersion in Stone Town, or exhilarating water activities, Zanzibar promises an unforgettable experience. Start planning your tropical escape today and discover the magic that awaits you in this enchanting island paradise.

[tasavvur-e-jaana]

Pehli si Mohabbat

//

In lieu of all my works lost, I am reposting all my RRR fics here. Again. This series is a 10 part story centred around our protagonists and classical music and ghazals (my inspiration to write), a fanfic of a fanfic really.

This was the first thing I ever wrote for the fandom and even though I am a dormant admirer, loving the characters from the sidewalk, here you go.

P.s. The characters are not mine, they are entirely credited to Mr. Rajamouli and I am just borrowing them, one fanfic writer to another really. And yeah, the usual disclaimer... bla bla bla... you all know by now how it goes.

The fic is unbeta'd and I own my mistakes like Ram.

Hope you enjoy.

//

Chapter 1: Yaad Piya ki Aaye

“Yaad piya ki aaye…”

The sweet melody of the traditional thumri was wafting in the air, mingling with the buzz in the street of purani Dilli even close to eleven at night. The shops had closed and the porches were now filled by the food stalls and hawkers selling various delicacies that were the highlight of the city’s flavours. The aroma of chole, kulche, kebabs, nihari, biryanis, paratha and what not was ready to attack and entice one’s appetite on just entering the gali. The street was lit with lanterns that lent a rustic glow to the entire surrounding and one could see why Ghalib had fallen in love with the city, especially the nightlife of it.

A man clad in white pyjamas and light blue solid patterned kurta walked through the humdrum of the streets. He seemed to be in a hurry to reach somewhere, not at all pausing or even glancing at the vendors or people on the way, his legs falling in determined steps as he almost was going to burst into a sprint anytime soon. A small albeit sad smile involuntarily graced his lips as soon as he heard the thumri before he saw the house from whose window the melodious tune was emanating. The structure was modest, with old but sturdy construction and the said man did not knock before he opened the wooden door noiselessly to enter.

The scene that greeted Akhtar was this as soon as he crossed the dehliz of the house and closed the door even more slightly than before. Unsurprisingly there were books strewn everywhere, meaning literally everywhere with barely any space to walk on the floor. The furniture comprised of an ordinary table, a chair and a bed that could be called a four poster if we were being too generous, wide enough of a full grown man if not more. But amongst all the clutter there were two things that were absolutely Akhtar’s favourites. One, the gramophone that oozed the beautiful and heartfelt tunes and the other was a recliner wooden chair on which lay Ram, the third and the most favourite entity of Akhtar’s life.

The said man was relaxing on the chair (or the version of relaxation that Ram did) and was almost asleep as he had not noticed Akhtar enter. His eyes were closed, one hand resting on his stomach which was moving lazily as he breathed. His other hand was laying casually on the handle of the chair, lithe fingers moving gently with the tune playing. He would look younger than he was only if his brows would not have been furrowed, forehead creased and slightly tensed shoulders that carried the weight of the world on them even when he was not working. Akhtar winced internally at this observation on top of feeling guilty at being late for the dinner.

He wanted to give as much less worry that he could manage to his… no, not his. To Ram. For a few days now, he had started calling him Ram in his head instead of anna or bhai or bhaiya due to a reason that he’d locked so far down in his heart that he wouldn’t touch it with a 100 foot pole. As he stood there openly gawking at the man in question, because such instances where he could just observe the other were too rare and too precious for him to let go of. How he wanted to shake Ram and get him to confess what was always troubling him? What guilt did he carry in his heart that had travelled to his beautiful face and had permanently etched a frown on those lush lips. He wanted to shout at him until he cracked and shared all his worries with Bheem. Bheem. How he himself wished he could tell Ram his real name so that Ram would not call him by the false identity that he’d donned. Bheem spent too much time thinking about how it would sound from Ram’s mouth.

Yet he never asked for Ram to spill his heart out and share his burdens because he could never share his own secret with Ram. That would be sheer hypocrisy. But Bheem already was a hypocrite wasn’t he? The whole coming to Delhi to rescue Malli was like walking on a double edged sword that was kept on the fire that was sure to burn Bheem alive. A creaking noise of the wood and a soft, sleep ridden voice brought Bheem back to the present from his reverie.

“Akhtar! Akhtar!?” a snap of fingers in front of his face had Bheem startled. Oh, right. Ram had woken up. How long had he been standing there? Anyway, he shook his head internally, putting on a blinding smile that was partly genuine- because how can it not be when Ram was there? And that too looking at him amusingly with that glint in his eye?

“Han!” (Yes.) Well, time to be Akhtar again.

“Kin khayalon mein khoye huye the?” (What were you thinking?) Ram asked, eyes still twinkling as he added. “Ya phir kis ke khayalon mein khoye huye the ye poochhna chahiye?” (Or should I ask whose thoughts were you lost in?)

A sudden and unwanted blush crept up Akhtar’s face at the question. He jerked away from Ram’s intense gaze as he replied unconvincingly, “Kuchh bhi toh nahi, anna.” (Nothing, Anna) oh, how he hated that word now.

“Kyon bachchu? Mujhse se jhoot bologe? Tumhari aankhein bata rahi hai k koi hai.” (Will you lie to me? Your eyes reveal more than you know.) If Akhtar had not been persistently boring a hole in his chappals, he would have noticed that even though Ram was teasing, the smirk did not reach his eyes.

“Meri chhodo. Apni baat karo na. Wo main nahi jo bhaabhi ki yaad mein saare din virah ke geet sunta rehta hoon.” (Leave me be. Let's talk about you. I'm not the one who's listening to sad songs remembering Sita) Akhtar retorted with his own jibe. Now it was Ram’s turn to flush; that’ll show him, thought the younger man triumphantly.

“Ye behad khoobsurat thumri hai. Aur main dusre ras ke gaane bhi sunta hoon.” (This song is a classic. And I listen to other types of songs.) Ram defended himself as he shifted on his feet; how could he ever tell his friend that the song did not remind him of Sita. It had never reminded him of anyone until he met the gorgeous, wide eyed man standing in front of him that commanded all his thought recently. He turned toward the kitchen to get their food ready. Because, let’s face it, if they would spiral into one of their classic playful bickerings, they’d be standing in the middle of the room like a couple of morons for the whole night. And also, he knew Akhtar would be starving.

“Tum baitho main khana lagaata hoon.” (You wait I'll bring the food.) Just as Ram took one step forward, the record whizzed and stopped. Before he could go and flip it over, Akhtar beat him to it, starting a new song. Unfortunately, the record player was not on Ram’s side as the second song that started playing turned out to be another thumri in the same ras.

Akhtar looked at him knowingly as the words formed in vilambit laya (slow tune) setting the base of the song that went “Kaa karun sajni… aaye na balam”

“Dekha? Main na kehta tha?” (See? I know you too well.) Akhtar chuckled at a slightly peeved Ram, who had been betrayed by his own gramophone’s timings. And just to rile him up further, Akhtar added, “Agar aapke paas koi khushnuma kism ke gaane ho, to woh lagaate hain.”, (If you have some happy and fun songs, let's play those.) and started to remove the pin from the record to stop the song.

Ram lunged at him with catlike reflexes, catching Akhtar’s extended arm in his own hand. “Nahi. Rehne do na ise. Ise beech mein badlna matlab sangeet ki tauheen karna.” (No. Let this one play. To stop this song in the middle will be an insult to music.)

“Achcha, to iske baad lagaate hain.” (Fine. Then after this one.)

“Thik hai.” (Ok.) Ram acquiciesed, not letting go of Akhtar’s arm.

They both looked at each other, Ram feeling butterflies in his stomach as Akhtar beamed at him on getting his way. A moment and more passed as they stood in that position, Ram not letting go of Akhtar’s arm, growing more aware of it by the second. Akhtar’s arm feels warm on his skin, touch tingling to his very core. Ram was not aware how touch starved he was until this hurricane of a man entered his life and uprooted everything. He left Ram with a clean slate on which he could rewrite his emotions and beliefs. He loosened Ram in a way that no one else could. After the death of his family, Ram was alive but had not been living. He was but only a weapon seeking revenge and destruction of the Empire.

And Akhtar- that curly haired menace had thoroughly made a permanent residence in Ram’s heart in no time. He was like a hot cup of sweet chai on a rainy day that lifted up Ram’s spirits at any point of time with his mere presence in Ram’s vicinity. All the little touches that he bestowed freely on Ram were akin to a salve soothing his wounds from the inside, healing little by little with each pat on the back, held hands, tight hugs, casual arm around shoulder. Ram always gravitated toward it, seldom initiating the contact himself. But Akhtar never seemed to notice or if he did, he didn’t mind. Ram was so engrossed in his thoughts that he missed the loud growl the younger man’s stomach let out.

“Anna…” a voice seemed to call him. “Ram!” the voice called out loud. Ram jolted back to find himself in front of his friend who was calling him. “Um…” Akhtar seemed…flustered? Clearing his throat, the other man spoke sheepishly. “My hand…”. Ram dropped it and ran as fast as he could in the kitchen leaving an equally crimson Akhtar behind.

Akhtar went into the kitchen after gathering his wits about himself. Ram was preparing two plates, a small smile playing at the edge of his lips. Akhtar stopped short of entering, entranced by the beauty that Ram oozed doing such a simple chore. He admonished himself, chastising internally- he needed to work harder controlling his emotions in front of Ram. It would not be appropriate if Ram found out about it. Taking a deep breath, Akhtar masked his emotions lest they spill out at some very inopportune moment.

“Kya bana hai khane mein aaj? Pet mein chuhe nahi ab to haathi daud rahe hain.” (What’s for dinner? I am starving like anything.) He asked even though he saw the plate was filled with his favourite biryani. Ram was now filling the bowls with raita as he answered. “Tumhari manpasand cheez.” (It’s your favourite) Ram handed over Akhtar’s plate to the younger man, following him out in the room with his own.

They both settled on the chairs by the table plate in hand as the table too was fully cluttered with papers, books and miscellaneous paraphernalia. Akhtar had once made the mistake of setting things straight on the table so it would look a bit organized and Ram had thrown a fit like a child. No Akhtar! What are you doing? Everything is just as I want it to be. Don’t disarragne it! That was the first and last time Akhtar dared touch to oragnize things for Ram.

Ram let out a soft chuckle as Akhtar dug into his biryani like a man starved and let out an indecent moan. Ram gulped down air as his throat went dry suddenly. Frankly, Akhtar should be arrested for public indecency and more so for making Ram melt into a puddle of mush. The older man resorted to small talk to divert his focus onto something else. “Aaj aane mein der kaise hui? Kab se intezaar tha tumhara…”, (Why so late today? You were being waited for a long time by…) he paused, only for the curly haired man to look at him with such fondness and a little sorrow. Mujhe. (Me.) Ram wanted to say, instead he blurted out a little too loud, “Biryani ko.” (Biryani) He really was such an emotion stunted person! It was perfectly fine telling a friend that I’d been waiting for you, right? Right? Ram face-palmed himself internally.

Akhtar, on the other hand, went completely still, the biryani forgotten for a moment at the pregnant pause Ram took. His heart was racing million miles a minute as if it would just jump out and land at Ram’s feet in benediction. The way Ram was looking at him, Akhtar, just for a second dared to imagine he saw the same emotion in Ram’s eyes as his own. But how could it be? Ram thought of him as a little brother, a friend. He was only reflecting his own sentiments, an illusion that his vulnerable heart created for his mind. He shook it off, a bit disappointed and also relieved when Ram ended the sentence with a joke. Of course it was a jest. A slight admonishment at Akhtar being late, because Ram was too gentle and sweet to actually get angry at him even if he was upset.

“Maaf karna, anna. Aaj bahot zyada kaam aa gaya tha achanak se. Uss silsile mein waqt ka taqaazaa hi nahi raha. Par aap to kha lete na! Kyon mere liye…” (Sorry, anna. There was a sudden repair to be done and I lost the sense of time. But you could have eaten. Why wait for me?) his eyes were too sincere as his voice was laced with guilt.

Ram couldn’t take that. Someone like Akhtar should not be upset for such a trivial thing. He shouldn’t be upset ever. “Akhtar,” he cut in, “Koi baat nahi. Aur daawat maine di hai. Tumhare bina kaise shuru kar sakta hoon?” (It’s no big deal. And it was my invitation. How could I start without you?) Ram smiled in reassurance, hoping to get his message to the other.

“Kya aap bhi! Apne hi ghar mein koi nyota hota hai bhala?” (What are you saying? Does one need an invitation in his own home?) Ram smiled wider at this, making Akhtar’s heart do somersaults in his chest. “Achchha chalo ab khao, warna fir se thandi ho jayegi.” (Fine. Now eat before it gets cold again and I have to reheat it.) Ram started working on his plate, urging the younger man to do the same. Both shifted to lighter banter after that, enjoying the food, the music and most importantly, the company.

The song slowly faded into silence as they finished up with dinner. Akhtar finally dragged Ram to his record collection in search of a song with faster beats and happy tone. “Chalo na! Pehle gaana dhoondho. Fir baki sab thik karenge. Aur mujhe shart bhi to jeetni hai!” (Come no! First let’s pick the song. Then we’ll clean up. And I have to win the bet too.)

“Maine koi shart toh nahi lagayi thi.” (I did not wager anything.) Ram said as he started shuffling the record collection, narrating the names of the songs to Akhtar for him to choose.

“Han toh ab lagaate hain. Agar main jeet gaya toh kya milega?” (Then let’s do it now. What will I get if I win?) Akhtar raised an eyebrow.

They had already gone though a few records without any luck: they’d all turned out to be gambhir ras raag or ghazals. Akhtar was preening in confidence and Ram really didn’t want to lose now.

“Nahi. Main bachchon jaise shart nahi lagaata.” (Look, I’m not wagering some stupid bet, ok?)

“Kyon darr gaye?” (Why? Afraid you’ll lose?)

“Ismein darne wali koi baat hi nahi.” (There’s nothing to be afraid of.)

“Toh phir lagao shart.” (Then let’s bet!) Akhtar extended his hand, baiting Ram. Ram shook it, “Lagi shart.” (Done.) And started digging through more of the vinyls. While searching, Ram found a disc with the song that he hadn’t heard in a while. It was one of his favourite ghazals. A beautiful poem and even better composition.

“Aha! Mil gayi. Akhtar ye ghazal toh sunni hi hogi!” (Yes! Here it is. Akhtar, you have to listen to this ghazal.) He held out the disc for Akhtar to drop in the gramophone.

“Kaunsi hai yeh?” (Which one is it?) Akhtar fixed it in the instrument, putting the pin in for it to play.

“Tum khud hi suno. Aur shart haar gaye ho tum.” (You’ll know when it plays. And yeah, you lost.) Ram declared with triumph.

Akhtar refused to back down as the tune started with a slow rhythm of the tanpura. He was confident that Ram’s definition of a fun song would be still a slow one. Then the words started flowing, making Akhtar more confident of the genre of the ghazal. It went- Mujhse pehli si mohabbat mere mehboob na maang…

He had heard this one before, it was one of the favourites of his abbajaan, the benevolent man at whose place he was staying. “Nahi nahi! Ye nahi chalega. Ye bhi dukh bhari ghazal hi hai. Main waqif hoon iss se.” (No! No! This is not done. This is also laden with sorrow. I know this one.)

“Par tumne kaha tha k mere paas virah ras k siva aur koi sangeet hi nahi hai! Ismein to desh bhakti ka tawajjuh hai. Shayar apne mulk se mohabbat ki baat kar raha hai!” (But you said I would not have songs apart from virah (separation from the beloved) ras. But this is about patriotism. The poet is talking about the love for his country.)

“Ho sakta hai, par wo keh to apne firdaus se hi raha hai na? Aur phir baat ismein bhi mulk se judaa hone ki hi hai!” (Maybe. But he’s conveying this to one of his lovers only. And also, there is the point where the poet yearns for his country.) Akhtar argued his point.

“Ye bhi ek soch hai par mulk se ishq aur insaan se ishq alag hai.” (This is one perspective toward it. But loving one’s motherland and loving a person is different.)

“Pata nahi. Shayad. Mere liye to ishq ishq hai. Chahe kisi se bhi ho. Pyaar mein koi alag mayne thoda hi hote hain? Dard bhi wahi hai, ranj bhi wahi, hijr bhi wahi aur vasl bhi wahi hai na? Par main toh itna padha likha nahi hun, main kya jaanu?” (I don’t know. Maybe. But for me love is love. Whoever there may be on the other end. How can you set boundaries for love? Pain is the same, distress is the same, woe of separation hits the same and the joy of reunion is the same. But I’m not a scholar, so what do I know?) His voice trailed into a soft whisper as he said the last sentence. Akhtar was afraid to look at Ram now, thinking he had crossed a line.

Ram took a step closer. They already were in close quarters riffing through the music, and that step landed Ram closer still. Akhtar could feel the heat of the other’s body, his breath on his cheeks as he spoke tenderly. “Akhtar, meri taraf dekho.” (Akhtar, look at me.) Akhtar shook his head slightly, shutting his eyes with embarrassment.

“Akhtar,” Ram repeated a bit more commandingly this time. Akhtar lifted his head, still not looking at Ram, his gaze fixed somewhere over the older man’s shoulder. Ram held his jaw with a featherlike touch to tilt his face to himself. His hand did not leave as he uttered the next words. “Kabhi apne aap ko anpadh bol kar khud ko neecha mat dikhana. Ek taraf tum itni gehri baat karte ho aur dusri taraf tum ye soch bhi kaise sakte ho? Tumse zyada samajhdaar, hoshiyaar aur kaabil insaan maine nahi dekha. Aur main ye tumhari khushaamad nahi kar raha, na to tumhe achchha lage isliye keh raha hoon. Main ye isiliye keh raha hoon kyon ki ye sach hai.” (Never think of yourself as lesser. On one hand you say something so profound and on the other hand you belittle yourself? I have not met anyone who is more smart, understanding and caring than you. And I’m not saying this to lift your spirits or to flatter you. I’m saying this because it is the truth.)

Bheem felt his vision go blurry and wetness on his cheeks as Ram proceeded with his speech. And as Ram cupped his face, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs, did Bheem realise he was actually crying. He held Ram’s wrists with both his hands as he shut his eyes to stop tears from flowing. What had happened to him? Sure, he was an emotional person, a bit too emotional as the elders in his tribe commented, feeling everything all at once. But he had learnt how to mask his feelings after coming to Delhi. He was here on a mission and the only time he had allowed himself to be emotionally vulnerable was when he went to the forest, be it for a walk or a hunt. When he would be alone.

Tears in Akhtar’s eyes were a new sight for Ram altogether and it split his heart into a million pieces to see the man cry at genuine compliments. Had no one ever told him how precious he was? How beautiful? How smart, intelligent, selfless and pure he was? Did the ever smiling, ever happy and optimist Akhtar think this about himself? This would not do. Ram would spend every moment that he got in the other’s company to make him believe otherwise. What Ram did next surprised him as well.

He lifted Akhtar’s head a little, thumbs rubbing under his eyes until he opened them, the honey dipped orbs that somehow held Ram’s universe in them. Ram wanted to drown in them. Forever. And forget the rest of the world, all the responsibilities and burdens and challenges. Ram was aware how close they were and how intimate the position was, their breaths mingling as time stretched in an eternity in that moment. But it was as if he was floating somewhere above his body, looking at the two of them suspended in their own personal bubble. He closed his eyes, raising his head and pressed his lips to Akhtar’s forehead, conveying everything he felt in that fleeting kiss.

“Anna…” Akhtar whimpered with so much love and reverence but the word still sounded hollow to him as he sunk himself in the older man’s embrace, burrowing his face in the other’s shoulders. Maybe, Ram heard the hollowness too as he engulfed Akhtar in his arms. “Mujhe mere naam se pukaaro na Akhtar.” (Call me by my name, Akhtar.) he pleaded.

“Ram..”, the muffled voice in Ram’s shirt was the sweetest sound in the room as the gramophone whirred in the back, effectively ending the song.

//

Chapter 2.

A/N: Please please let me know how you liked it or didn't like it...

Also, I do apologise for the Hindi/Urdu dialogues but that's the language i thought in for the songs and the Delhi backdrop. And I'm sorry that the translation of the ghazal is not mentioned in the fic but I'll attach a link with the video.

P.s. for the ghazal nerds, the ghazal was written by the great Faiz Ahmad Faiz sahab (1911-1984) and it might not have been exactly written in 1920s. It was around the time of partition and was written in the form of a revolt poem against the government and his love for the country (India and Pakistan). But I've taken artistic liberty here so I hope that's okay. The ghazal has a very rich history in Urdu literature and it is absolutely my favourite.

P.P.s: I also have lost my taglist- and somehow am not exactly keen to make one without request. So lmk if you want the notifications. Or just keep tuned to this blog.

[milla984]

Just another rainy day

Summary: Reader comes home after a few days away on a work trip and smut ensues. Sort of.

Pairing: modern AU Bheem x fem!reader (but Bheem still has a nose ring)

Category: smut (NSFW, 18+, MDNI)

TW/CW: kissing, unprotected penetrative sex, mentions of food

Word Count: 2.8k

You close the front door of the apartment as the noise of the downpour fills the silence with the repetitive tapping of raindrops bouncing off the rooftop. You take off your shoes and socks to leave them at the entrance, besides Bheem’s boots, then you let your bag flop on the floor and toss the keys into the glass bowl at the entrance, producing a loud clink - which should be his cue to stop doing whatever he’s doing to give you a proper welcome back. There’s no answer, though, except for a muffled sound of water splashing in the shower and a delicious aroma coming from the kitchen. 

You hang your coat and scuttle like a mouse across the room to take a peek inside the pot cooling on the stove, lifting the lid to confirm Bheem prepared one of your favorite dishes for dinner. Food is part of his love language, and even if it’s not five-star restaurant quality the simple fact he made it is enough for you to declare all the other biryanis don’t hold a candle to his version.

It takes a moment for you to notice the crumpled mass of fabric lying on the armrest of the couch, in the living room; upon a closer look you realize it’s the nehru jacket you bought him as a birthday present, and a few feet away there’s also one of his shirts. The trail of clothes he left behind points to the hallway and you patiently pick each item up, so you could put them into the hamper. You know he doesn’t expect you to be his maid, since he’s capable of doing his share of household chores, he’s just… Bheem, getting so excited over the little things in life (such as stripping off to have a well-deserved shower at the end of a long day) that you can’t really get mad at him. 

Once you’re done with the laundry basket you walk towards the bathroom and you raise a hand to push the door fully open - that’s when he turns off the faucet, causing you to gawk, speechless: he may be as innocent and impetuous as a child, on occasion, yet you can’t help but stare at the grown man who’s in front of you.

All of him, since his imposing physique takes up half the space in the cabin.

Thanks to the semi-transparent panels you can see he’s tilting his head back to shake the excess water out of his hair and let it roll on his shoulders, down along his spine to his rock-solid ass and thighs. You lick your chops at the thought of the veins climbing up his knee, towards his hip; he could probably choke you with those legs and the fire burning in your core indicates you find the idea inviting. He’s a sweetheart by nature, nevertheless experience taught you his inherent impetuosity leads to interesting results during your most intimate one-on-one sessions.

You jump out of your trousers and toss them behind you, and with only your kurti on you rush to the kitchen to spoon some virgin coconut oil out of the jar and put it in a small bowl. When you go back he’s standing in front of the bed, a towel wrapped around his waist and his muscular calves exposed. 

“Bujji…?” you call him in a soft tone.

“Ammu!!!” he roars, his eyes shining brighter than the stars in the sky. He’s so strong he lifts you up while he greets you. “Are you tired?” he adds, enthusiastically, and doesn’t really give you a chance to reply because he can’t contain the excitement of holding you in his arms. “Hungry?! How was—”

“Kiss me and I’ll tell you all about it,” you cut him off, in the hope that he won’t be tempted to ask more questions. Right now you’re in desperate need of his nose ring pressed against your upper lip, and he obliges.

Kissing Bheem feels like being blessed by a ray of sunshine, warming you up on a cold winter’s morning; his soul is pure as dew glistening on jasmine petals, his embrace is where you wish you could spend eternity.

“I am hungry,” you whisper, “and tired, but I’ve got duties to fulfill.”

He smiles again and nods, kissing you one last time before he sits on the covers; you kneel behind him, using your palms to warm up a moderate amount of coconut until it melts completely. You’ve been dreaming of this for days: you start with a gentle massage on the nape and move up to the crown to distribute the oil on the scalp, then switch to a firmer pressure to play with large chunks of his hair to help him relax.

Calling it ‘a duty’ is a private joke, as far as possible from an old-style, strict interpretation of gender roles within a couple. In fact, you’d never pass up a chance to put your hands all over him and worship every inch of his naked body and it’s definitely a display of desire he’s very fond of.

When you bring your attention to his outer ears, rolling the flexible helices between your thumb and index finger, his head falls backwards and his curls tickle your cheek. You peck him gently on the temple and scoop a larger quantity of coconut oil out of the bowl, repeating the warming process; his hands sneakily reach the hem of your kurti to try and lift it - to no avail, since the back portion of the garment is trapped under your weight.

“Do you want me to stop?” you purr, and his laugh makes something stir in your belly.

No, he doesn’t want you to stop - what comes next is his favorite part.

You start working his shoulders and the pads of your fingers glide on his skin, dampened with the tiny droplets glistening in the dark fuzz he’s never bothered to get rid of; he groans in pleasure and you too enjoy the sensation of his firm muscles being manipulated, the light friction making them even warmer to the touch. They’re so defined you could use his entire back as a living anatomy chart, so you torture your lips in a feeble attempt to suppress the temptation to cover him in bitemarks. After reaching his waist you usually go for a knuckling technique along both sides of his spine in an upward direction, but tonight you have other plans.

Bheem lets out a surprised, short gasp as you tug at one border of the towel around his hips to peel it open. You put your palms flat on his thighs and you slowly stroke back and forth, your chest pressed against his body and the tip of your tongue following a linear path from the base of his neck to the sensitive spot behind his ear. The scent of coconut on his olive complexion drives you insane and you dig your fingers into his flesh; he winces in discomfort, so you release him and use the bed of your nails to graze over the veins you’d be able to find even with your eyes closed. 

He grows impatient soon and grabs your right wrist, dragging it towards his groin; when you’re so close you can perceive his heat you trap his earlobe between your teeth and he whimpers, like a puppy who’s gotten his tail bitten by one of his siblings. You ghost the back of your hands against his ribcage, your chin resting on the crevice created by his collarbone. You look down and the mere sight of his hardening cock hits you so good that the pounding between your legs turns into a wet patch.

“I missed you so much,” you whisper. 

He raises his arm to caress your head and the tattoo on his bicep contracts, sending jolts of pure lust to your brain. “Four days, chinna!”

“Too long,” you declare, resolute, “I want you. I need you...”

In a flash you’re sprawled on the covers, Bheem’s big hands nearly tearing the kurti off of you; he’s propping up on one knee, towering over you to pin your forearms down and rub himself over your panties. You bite your lips again: he’s allowed to do some teasing in return, and you know he likes the idea that spending less than a week apart turned you into a writhing mess, hungry for him. 

His breathing quickly becomes ragged from the fast-paced, rocking motion but the spark in his eyes is absolutely feral. It doesn’t take long before the tension mounting in your lower stomach screams for release, overwhelmed by the bobbing and pressing of his tip on the same, soaked spot. You’re a single step away from begging him to put you out of your misery when he pulls your underwear down. And almost at the same time, the whole room plunges into darkness. 

You both react with different degrees of annoyance - Bheem’s annyoed and somewhat resigned grumble covered by your vocal “No, damn it! Not now!!”

“Welcome home,” he sighs and he plops on his side to avoid crushing you by mistake.

You bang your head on the mattress and whine, as a demonstration the pet name he uses for you sometimes fits perfectly. “I hate when this happens! Hate it!”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Bheem grunts. He stands up and in the blue-ish hue filtering through the windows he walks to the dresser, clearly searching for a pair of briefs in the dedicated drawer.

“Where are you going?” you ask him, perplexed.

He gives you a little frown from over his shoulder. “Uhm, someone should check the—”

“Breaker box?! Like you always do and nothing changes and the power comes back on its own?” you point out, since you have no intention of letting a stupid blackout disrupt your evening.

“It’s just…” he stammers, then he stops mid sentence with the drawer half-open in front of him. 

Finally he turns around, and you see for yourself why he’s got such a mortified expression on his face. The random honking of scooters driving into traffic, in the distance, seem to add a poignant effect to the moment, but you shrug and pat on the sheets.

“I really missed you. Please… stay?”

He rapidly considers the pros and cons of the two scenarios he’s facing and eventually he shrugs as well. Someone else would be in charge of checking the breaker box, for once, so you wait for him to lie at your side; you put your head on his chest, your heart contemplating the power he has over your life. 

There’s so much of him to cuddle that his presence alone makes you feel safe: the worst part about work trips for you is not the consciousness you won’t be returning to the comfort and protection of your apartment for the night - it’s being forced to spend that time alone, in a stranger place without his warmth and considerable weight close to you.

The rain trickles down on the glass and the reflection of the street lamps light paints stripes on his forehead and nose. His body resembles the image of a bear in your mind, so it’s no wonder you often call him that (even though it’s such a special endearment you never use it in public to respect the sacred privacy of your bedroom). Your hand wanders briefly on his sternum, twisting and twirling the fuzziness growing on his pecs; he’s very much used to you doing this whenever you chill out on the couch, watching a movie, and he’s well aware of how good his beard feels when he goes down on you. 

You hug him tighter and envelop his right thigh with yours: the feeling of his coarse hair over your sensitive clit is painfully exquisite, the friction from the grinding movement muffled by the slick texture of your arousal. You’re literally humping the tattoo matching the one on his left bicep and the back of your fingers start brushing over his nipple; Bheem shudders and tenses up, so you wait for another possible indication of uneasiness. He clenches his fist around the messy locks at the base of your neck to offer you his left nipple, instead, and your subtle oral fixation is more than glad to please him. 

You plant butterfly kisses to trace the outline of the areola, alternating between sucking the stiff, tiny bud and blowing warm air on it; you never rush through this stage of foreplay, and he’s a terrible enabler who’s learned to use your weakness to his full advantage. When your fingers leave his chest to trail down to his navel, cupping his reinvigorated erection, he gently yanks your head back to claim your mouth for himself. 

This is without doubt what you’ve been craving all along: your moans roll on his tongue like sweet mango juice, your hearts beat in unison as echoes of an otherworldly dimension of pure intimacy. He then shifts to his side, so that your bodies align perfectly in front of each other; his palm dances on your skin, his skilled fingers unclasping your bra to help you remove it. He’s done waiting and you nod, in a silent confirmation you share the same urgency.

Bheem slips his left forearm under your right knee, lifting your leg up against his chest. He’s got you pinned in an awkward position - your calf resting on his bicep and your forehead touching the bridge of his nose - but it’s the best way to have you ready for him, and you hold your breath as you feel his bulbous tip nudging at your entrance. He’s not fully in control of this new setting, so he hesitates; he slips out as a result and you squirm in pain for a fraction of a second, which prompts him to loosen his grip and kiss your shoulder to make sure you’re alright. 

You smile and let your free hand reach for your folds. This time he holds his breath and you gently guide his head on the right spot, waiting for him to push deeper: a loud moan escapes your throat when he finally does, drunk on the blissful feeling of having him inside of you and the knowledge you belong together. He tries swaying his hips in a rising movement, still figuring out the optimal dynamics, and your lips come closer.

“Bheema…” you mutter, clawing at his muscles.

He growls, a low rumble that reverberates in your ears, and the realization seems to dawn on him: he starts thrusting with his thigh and his pounding gets faster, more confident, a wild exercise in untamed passion. He’d let go of you in an instant if you asked him to, nevertheless you cherish your status as a captive of his powerful hold. Your grip on his skin turns into a primal instinct to further assert your possession rights over him once he sets a frantic pace.

The slapping noise distracts you before you can feel his fingertips kneading your butt cheek: he buries his face in your hair and his last, ferine growl sends him over the edge and he twitches multiple times inside of you while your own climax builds up in response. You throw your head back while a second and third slap land on your ass, your legs shaking and not a single sound from your lips during one of the most intense and satisfying experiences of your life.

You collapse on his chest, panting and laughing with what little breath you’ve got left. There’s a sudden, electric buzz in the air and the lights come back on, as you predicted.

“Are you okay?” he inquires, a tangible trace of confusion in his voice. “Did I do something wrong?”

You snuggle against him to play with the earring adorning his lobe. “I can’t even think straight... you were amazing.”

Bheem blushes and tries to maintain eye contact, but has to look away in the end; he just fucked you into a mind-blowing orgasm, still he’s too embarrassed to talk about it. No amount of words could ever describe or quantify the love you have for him.

“Come on, get up! We must feed you, Pallavi...!” he bellows, back to his usual cheerful self - his smile a beautiful reminder of how falling for him was, indeed, inevitable.

“I know, I’m starving,” you agree, and you retrieve your panties and kurti to swiftly put them on as you get off the bed, “but I’m going to take a long shower, first.”

He nearly throws you off balance when he grabs you by your waist, making you sit on his lap while he stares at you like he’s got a shocking secret to confess.

“I’m so happy you’re back,” he giggles, “three nights without you is definitely where I draw the line.”

@ronaldofandom, @gifseafins, @ladydarkey, @bheemaxrama, @astrafangs, @ronnoxandlumoss, @rambheemlove, @chaidrivenwhore, @ssabriel, @burningsheepcrown, @busy-bii

»»»— read pinned post for taglist info —«««

[masala-indian-restaurant]

In the heart of Guanacaste lies a culinary gem that has captured the attention and taste buds of travelers far and wide - Masala Indian Restaurant. Ever wondered why this establishment proudly holds the number one spot among travelers' choices? Let's uncover the essence behind Masala's unrivaled acclaim. At Masala, authenticity isn't just a word; it's the cornerstone of their culinary philosophy. Each dish is a testament to the rich heritage of Indian cuisine, meticulously crafted with traditional recipes, genuine spices, and a dedication to preserving the true flavors of India.

From the fragrant biryanis to the creamy butter chicken, Masala's menu is a symphony of diverse tastes and aromas beyond the food, Masala offers an unparalleled dining experience. Quality is non-negotiable at Masala. From sourcing the freshest ingredients to maintaining high standards in food preparation and presentation. Dining at Masala isn't just about the food; it's an immersion into the vibrant tapestry of Indian culture. The decor, music, and the passion of the staff create an ambiance that transports guests to the heart of India

We would like to thank all our customers who visited our place and liked our food so much without them it wouldn’t be possible for us to be at such place where we are standing now they made us one of the best in Guanacaste. Masala Indian Restaurant's ascent to the top of Guanacaste's travelers' choice isn't solely due to its delectable dishes. It's the culmination of authenticity, exceptional flavors, unparalleled dining experiences, and a commitment to excellence that has solidified its position as the unrivaled destination for those seeking an authentic taste of India.

[asia-prime]

Heer Basmati Rice

Heer Basmati Rice is a premium long-grain rice known for its exquisite aroma and fluffy texture. Perfect for a variety of dishes, from biryanis to pilafs, it enhances any meal with its authentic taste and quality. Available at AsiaPrime, visit asiaprime.ch to purchase Heer Basmati Rice and elevate your culinary creations.

[banarasibiryani012]

Banarasi biryani restaurant in new delhi

Welcome to a culinary journey through the vibrant streets of Banaras right here in the heart of New Delhi! If you're a biryani aficionado seeking the perfect blend of aroma, flavor, and tradition, look no further than the Banarasi Biryani Restaurant in Laxmi Nagar. Nestled amidst the bustling lanes of this dynamic locality, our restaurant promises an exquisite dining experience that transports you to the land of Banaras with every bite.

Discovering Banarasi Biryani:

Banaras, renowned for its rich cultural heritage and delectable cuisine, has bestowed upon the world a culinary gem - Banarasi Biryani. Unlike any other biryani variant, Banarasi Biryani is a celebration of aromatic spices, fragrant rice, and tender meats, lovingly cooked to perfection. At our restaurant, we honor this legacy by crafting each dish with meticulous attention to detail, ensuring an authentic Banarasi culinary experience for our patrons.

Location and Ambiance:

Conveniently situated in the vibrant neighborhood of Laxmi Nagar, our restaurant provides a cozy retreat from the hustle and bustle of city life. As you step through our doors, you are greeted by the inviting aroma of spices and the warm ambiance that reflects the cultural essence of Banaras. Whether you're dining with family, friends, or colleagues, our welcoming atmosphere sets the stage for an unforgettable gastronomic journey.

Signature Dishes:

At Banarasi Biryani Restaurant, our menu showcases an array of tantalizing dishes inspired by the culinary heritage of Banaras. While our specialty remains the iconic Banarasi Biryani, prepared with fragrant Basmati rice, succulent meat, and a secret blend of spices, we offer a diverse selection to cater to every palate. From flavorful kebabs and aromatic curries to mouthwatering desserts, each dish is a testament to our commitment to culinary excellence.

Unparalleled Quality:

Quality is at the heart of everything we do at Banarasi Biryani Restaurant. We source the finest ingredients, handpick fresh produce, and adhere to traditional cooking techniques to ensure that every dish that leaves our kitchen surpasses expectations. Whether it's the tender texture of our meats, the aromatic blend of spices, or the perfect balance of flavors, each element is carefully curated to deliver an unparalleled dining experience.

Exceptional Service:

At Banarasi Biryani Restaurant, we believe that exceptional food should be complemented by impeccable service. Our courteous staff is dedicated to providing you with a seamless dining experience, from assisting you in selecting the perfect dish to catering to your individual preferences. Whether you're dining in or opting for takeaway, we strive to exceed your expectations at every step of your culinary journey.

Banarasi Biryani Restaurant in New Delhi:

In addition to our flagship location in Laxmi Nagar, we are delighted to announce the opening of our newest venture in the bustling city of New Delhi. Situated amidst the vibrant culinary landscape of the capital, our new restaurant brings the authentic flavors of Banaras closer to food enthusiasts across the city. With the same commitment to quality, flavor, and tradition, we invite you to embark on a culinary adventure unlike any other.

Conclusion:

Embark on a gastronomic voyage to the heart of Banaras without leaving the city limits at Banarasi Biryani Restaurant. Whether you're craving the iconic Banarasi Biryani or eager to explore the diverse flavors of Indian cuisine, our restaurant promises an unforgettable dining experience that tantalizes your taste buds and transports you to the streets of Banaras. Join us at our Laxmi Nagar or New Delhi location and savor the essence of Banaras, one delectable dish at a time.

[glacialheart]

Hmph

The heavenly aroma of hyderabadi biryani.... Its simply delectable taste....i got to experience it all plenty today and ill experience it tomorrow too 😌😌

oooh have fun <333 here's hoping an elaichi doesn't ruin your experience like it ruined lily's

[bestbiryaniinthane]

The Biryani Of Thane Delicious Taste In Every Bite

When it comes to Indian cuisine, nothing comes close to the flavors and aroma of Biryani. Chicken Biryani, in particular, is a dish beloved all over India, and Thane is no exception. Thane provides the best of this dish that will make you crave more. If you're in Thane and want to try the local version of the famous Chicken Biryani, you'll find something interesting there.

What Makes Thane's Chicken Biryani Special?

The deliciousness of the Chicken Biryani of Thane lies in the spices and herbs used. The rich aroma and flavor of the dish come from the generous use of spices such as garam masala, red chili powder, cumin, coriander, cardamom, and more. The aromatic and fragrant Biryani is simmered and controlled to ensure that the spices penetrate through the chicken and the rice. The chicken pieces are marinated for a few hours, then cooked in spices, and added ingredients to bring out a unique flavor.

The Accompanying Dishes 

What makes Thane's Chicken Biryani unique is its accompaniments. This iconic dish is often served with raita, papads, pickles, and chutneys. Raita, a yogurt-based side dish, is done as a cooling accompaniment. Pickles like mango pickles are popular additions to Chicken Biryani. All these sides provide an interesting contrast to the spicy Biryani.

Authentic Taste with Every Bite

A significant concern when it comes to food is hygiene and quality. Everything is of the utmost quality, from the fresh spices to the succulent chicken pieces, to bring you an authentic taste with every bite. Fortunately, regarding the Chicken Biryani of Thane, you can rest assured that the best quality ingredients are always used. The dish can instantly retain its taste and flavor if the elements are new.

An Unforgettable Culinary Experience

Not only is Thane's Chicken Biryani delicious, but it's also an unforgettable culinary experience. The spices' vibrant aroma fills the room and makes you salivate instantly. Different ingredients, such as fried onions, nuts, barista, pieces, etc., make the flavor unique and appealing. The texture of the rice and the succulent pieces of chicken make it an outstanding dish, which is why it's become so popular.

Where to Find the Best Chicken Biryani in Thane?

If you're in Thane and want to experience the uniqueness of the Chicken Biryani, you can visit several restaurants in the city. Some of the most popular places are. These places serve up some of the best Chicken Biryani in Thane that will surely leave you wanting more.

[dularifoods]

Royal Basmati Rice and Biryani Rice Price | Dulari Foods

At Dulari Foods, we take pride in bringing you the finest quality rice varieties, including the renowned Royal Basmati Rice and our specially curated Biryani Rice. Our commitment to delivering premium rice products has made us a trusted name in the industry.

Royal Basmati Rice is known for its exquisite aroma, delicate texture, and superior taste. Grown in the fertile regions of the Himalayas, our Royal Basmati Rice is meticulously selected to ensure each grain meets the highest quality standards. At Dulari Foods, we offer a range of basmati rice options, each carefully selected for its exceptional quality. Our Biryani rice price start at [insert price range], providing excellent value for money without compromising on taste.

[flavorofindiaau]

Discovering the Best Indian Cuisine in West Hollywood

West Hollywood, known for its vibrant nightlife, trendy boutiques, and diverse food scene, is a haven for food lovers seeking unique culinary experiences. Amidst the array of dining options, Indian cuisine stands out for its rich flavors, aromatic spices, and comforting dishes. Whether you're craving classic curries, tandoori delights, or delicious street food, there’s no shortage of places offering the best Indian cuisine in West Hollywood. In this blog, we’ll explore what makes Indian food so special and highlight some of the top spots in West Hollywood to satisfy your Indian food cravings.

The Allure of Indian Cuisine

Indian cuisine is a complex and diverse tapestry of flavors and techniques, with each region offering its unique culinary traditions. It’s characterized by the use of aromatic spices such as cumin, coriander, turmeric, and cardamom, which infuse each dish with a distinct taste and aroma. From the creamy richness of North Indian curries like Butter Chicken and Paneer Tikka Masala to the spicy and tangy flavors of South Indian dishes like Dosa and Sambhar, Indian food caters to a variety of tastes and dietary preferences.

Whether you’re a fan of hearty, meat-based dishes or prefer vegetarian and vegan options, Indian cuisine has something for everyone. The combination of vibrant spices, fresh ingredients, and diverse cooking methods makes it a favorite among food enthusiasts looking for bold and exciting flavors.

Top Restaurants for Indian Cuisine in West Hollywood

Badmaash: A contemporary take on traditional Indian fare, Badmaash offers a unique dining experience with a menu that blends classic Indian flavors with modern twists. Located in the heart of West Hollywood, this trendy spot is perfect for those looking to explore creative interpretations of traditional dishes. Must-try items include the Chicken Tikka Poutine, Masala Fries, and their famous Lamb Burger. The vibrant atmosphere and innovative menu make Badmaash a standout choice for Indian cuisine lovers.

Spice Affair: Known for its elegant ambiance and refined menu, Spice Affair is a top destination for those seeking a luxurious Indian dining experience. The restaurant offers an extensive menu featuring classic dishes like Rogan Josh, Chicken Biryani, and a variety of vegetarian options. Their Tandoori specialties, cooked to perfection in a traditional clay oven, are a highlight. With impeccable service and a sophisticated setting, Spice Affair is perfect for a special night out or celebrating a milestone.

Electric Karma: A local favorite, Electric Karma is known for its cozy, bohemian vibe and authentic Indian dishes. The restaurant’s outdoor patio, adorned with twinkling lights and vibrant decor, creates a magical dining atmosphere. Popular dishes include their flavorful Saag Paneer, Lamb Vindaloo, and Garlic Naan. They also offer a great selection of vegan and gluten-free options. Whether you’re dining with friends or enjoying a romantic dinner, Electric Karma’s inviting setting and delicious food make it a must-visit.

Curry House: For those seeking a casual dining experience without compromising on quality, Curry House is the place to be. This no-frills eatery serves up some of the best curries in town, with a menu that covers everything from Butter Chicken and Lamb Korma to spicy Vindaloo and tangy Goan Fish Curry. The generous portions and reasonable prices make Curry House a popular choice for both dine-in and takeout. Their warm, welcoming atmosphere and consistently good food make it a reliable spot for satisfying your Indian food cravings.

Must-Try Dishes When Exploring Indian Cuisine in West Hollywood

When dining at one of the best Indian restaurants in West Hollywood, be sure to try these popular dishes:

Butter Chicken: A creamy and mildly spiced dish featuring tender chicken pieces in a rich tomato-based sauce. It’s a favorite among those new to Indian cuisine and pairs perfectly with naan or basmati rice.

Paneer Tikka: Marinated cubes of paneer (Indian cottage cheese) grilled to perfection. This vegetarian delight is full of flavor and a great appetizer to start your meal.

Biryani: A fragrant rice dish cooked with spices, herbs, and your choice of meat or vegetables. Each spoonful is a burst of flavor, making it a must-have for rice lovers.

Chana Masala: A hearty chickpea curry simmered in a tangy tomato and onion sauce, spiced with traditional Indian seasonings. It’s a satisfying vegan option that’s both nutritious and delicious.

Naan and Roti: No Indian meal is complete without these traditional breads. Naan, with its soft, fluffy texture, and Roti, a whole wheat flatbread, are perfect for scooping up curries and dips.

The Growing Popularity of Indian Cuisine in West Hollywood

The demand for Indian cuisine in West Hollywood has been on the rise, reflecting a broader trend of people seeking out diverse and flavorful dining experiences. The increasing number of Indian restaurants in the area speaks to the growing appreciation for the rich culinary heritage of India. From casual eateries to upscale dining establishments, the variety of options ensures that everyone can find a place to enjoy the best Indian cuisine in West Hollywood.

Conclusion

For those looking to explore the vibrant and diverse world of Indian food, West Hollywood offers an array of fantastic options. Whether you’re in the mood for a modern take on traditional dishes, a luxurious dining experience, or a cozy spot with authentic flavors, the best Indian cuisine in West Hollywood is just around the corner. So, the next time you’re craving something delicious and full of flavor, head to one of these top restaurants and indulge in the aromatic and irresistible tastes of India.