Sajni Quotes

The world is changing, and the older generation needs to keep up or shut up.

Love is enough. Its society's views and old-world thinking that broke everything.

You can be different, free, opinionated, be all those things but be a good person.

White chocolate peppermint latte, half skim, half soy, no whip, extra white chocolate sauce on the bottom and a drizzle on top.

I came because you’re the one,” he rasped. “You’re mine. I’m yours. We don’t belong with anyone else. I don’t stand in front of you, or run after you. I walk alongside you. I will be damned if anything breaks us.

I cleared my throat. “What are you doing here?” “I was going to ask you the same thing,” he replied. “That’s not an answer.” “It wasn’t meant to be one.” “Okay…Are you stalking me? That’s what this feels like.” “No. When I saw that your car was still here, I knew you’d be working late, and I brought dinner on the off chance you’d still be here.” “Wouldn’t you have felt silly if I wasn’t?” “Thanks for saving me from an awkward moment with myself.” He grinned.

You can’t escape being judged in this world. Everything is hard. You have to choose your hard. Someone is going to shove out their unsolicited, hurtful opinion no matter what you do. You can’t live for others.

love crème brûlée, but lemon soufflé, raspberry dacquiose…okay.” I closed my eyes and touched the menu with a fingertip. Peering through one slit of an eye, I declared, “Strawberry savarin.

But then how can you be so hateful when the same religion tells you to be peaceable and kind to all?” “I’m not perfect. And I’m speaking the truth.” “That’s a tired excuse. She’s imperfect, too. We all are. Being imperfect isn’t an excuse for you to slander. And she has every right to be here. Sounds like maybe you need to sit in the front row during sermons as much as anyone else.

i know my daughter. I might not have carried you in my belly, but I have lulled you to sleep at night, I cradled you when you were sick, I held you when you fell, I wiped your tears. i know the sound, the look of pain in you.

barfi

My usual Saturday fare: crepes with sweet cream cheese filling and strawberries…and bacon. Because…bacon.

Are you not hungry?” he asked, one eyebrow cocked as he dissected a taco with a fork and knife and took a bite. I gaped at him. “What?” “You eat tacos with a fork and knife?” He shrugged. “How dare you,” I whispered. He laughed. “With your hands.” I pointedly nodded to the taco.

You have to let it go before it completely consumes you.” “How do I do that?” “Approach and embrace the bitterness. Look it in the eye and give it all you have, your tears, your fears, your anger. Then release it like a breath you’ve held for too long. Remember the good things about your father.” “You’re not going to think I’m some emotional man-child if I cry?” I smirked. She smiled. “We’ll cry together.

Do you think you can escape me so easily. What? Just drive off to Dallas and think I won’t find you?” “I tried.” I half smiled, and he grinned. “I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth because you are most definitely worth it.

Where are we?” she asked when I pulled into a parking lot. “The park.” “Isn’t it dangerous at night?” “Not here. Come on.” I pulled her out of her seat and grabbed a blanket from the trunk before trekking through the soft grass. “You always keep a blanket in your car?” “Yeah, for emergencies. Never know when you might need it. Food, water, first-aid kit, too.” “Oh!” she grunted and caught my arm as one of her heels pierced the soft dirt and sank. “You should take those off.” “And walk around barefoot? Hello? Ever heard of hookworms and tetanus?” “Ever heard of snapping your ankles as you fall flat on your face in the dark?” I asked as I squatted in front of her and slipped her foot out of the high heels. “What are you doing?” she gasped, tumbling forward and grabbing onto my shoulders for support. “Removing your obstacles.” She landed a bare foot on the grass as I undid the other shoe. “So now I get tetanus?” I looked up at her, my hands lightly stroking her ankles up to her calves. “You worry too much.” “It’s a real risk. Ask Preeti.” I stood slowly, moving up her body, and hovered above her. “How…how far are we walking?” she asked. “To the river.” “In the dark?” I nodded and handed her the shoes. “Took these off and you won’t even carry them?” “I’ll carry them,” I replied, swooped down, and threw her over the blanket on my shoulder. Liya yelped. “Put me down!” “So you can get tetanus?” I asked and walked toward the river. She laughed. “I hate you!” “You love it.” She slapped my butt and then poked her pointy elbows into my shoulder as she arched her back. “Enjoying the view of my backside from over there?” I slid my hand up the back of her thighs and tugged her dress down to keep her covered. “This isn’t so bad,” she said. “Oh, yeah?” “Yeah.” She slapped my butt again. “Giddyap!” “All right. You asked for it.” Her next words were swallowed up in a scream as I took off at a full sprint. She gripped my shirt, clutching for my waist, as the breeze broke around us. I ran the short distance to the riverside in no time, slowing only when the moonlit gleam on the water’s surface appeared. I placed Liya on the grass, but she swayed away. I grabbed her by the waist to steady her and chuckled. “Are you okay?” “You try doing that upside down.

She inhaled the steam rising from the coffee without touching it. “I’m very picky about my coffee.” “White chocolate peppermint latte, half skim, half soy, no whip, extra white chocolate sauce on the bottom and a drizzle on top.” Her gaze shot up, watching me over the rim of the cup with a hint of incredulity. “How’d you know?” I shrugged. “Maybe we like the same drinks.” Or maybe Wendy had told me the other day when she balanced three cups of coffee in the elevator. Liya clamped her mouth shut but covered the warm cup with her petite hands. Her glossy red nails clicked against the sturdy paper cup, drowning out the muted sounds of others in the hallway beyond the open door. “It’s okay,” I assured her. “I don’t think you did anything to the coffee.” “I mean it’s okay to smile because someone brought you your picky-ass latte.” She took a sip. “We’re not friends, you know?” “No one forgets being told they’re not friends,” I said teasingly, knowing full well she didn’t want to be friends but yet, here we were. A smile crept across her lips, even though she tried hard to stop it.

mendhi

The plight of a woman has to work to make money, but the purpose of a woman is to help her husband by taking care of the home and his needs…

Ribbons, balloons, paper flowers, candies, diapers, and dolls. An aarti tray was set up by the shrine. A long table was covered in confetti and an assortment of food: little square cakes that resembled building blocks spelling out “Welcome Baby Shah,” cups with veggie dip and long slivers of vegetables, lettuce wraps, and a watermelon carved into a baby stroller filled with fruit balls. Alongside that were silver platters of warm vegetable samosas and bowls of a dark green chutney with spicy jalapeño, and sweet date and tangy tamarind chutney. Potato and onion pakora came next, fried golden brown with hints of green herbs and creamy raita. I knew I had to get some dabeli before those went fast and plucked a small bun of what was essentially a spiced potato burger topped with peanuts and pomegranate seeds. There was, of course,

Don’t let a few bad days and a few idiots unravel the determination that you’ve had since you were a kid. You’ll make mistakes, Pree. You’re not perfect, no one is, and although you hold yourself to incredibly high standards because you take your responsibility and privilege seriously, you can’t beat yourself up for every mistake. But the fact that you do shows how much you care. Mistakes are just that. They don’t always reflect your skill or intelligence.

You outdid yourself,” I said, popping a seasoned slice of radish into my mouth. A pinch of salt hit my tongue. Curried vegetables in muted hues of green and orange were piled high in a bowl. Spicy dhal with a swirl of paprika-induced red glistening on the surface simmered in a pot next to a platter of saffron-infused yellow rice. On the granite countertop, crispy papad with hot spots of fennel were stacked on a metal dish beside an open container of creamy raita with bright pieces of mint leaves.

Here's how I see it: If someone doesn't like you, then that's their problem. Not yours. You keep doing your thing and not give them a minute of your time. Whatever narrow-minded, inferior judgement others pass is a cloud of negativity living in their head. Meanwhile, you're living your best, most positive and happy life. Eventually, their heads will explode from the pessimism while you're frolicking in a field of joy.

Excellent choice,” the waiter commented. “I’ve heard incredible things about your tulipes with raspberry sorbet. Let’s try that. And a few of the assorted macarons to go,

How did you get in here?” Jay turned to me and dished up spicy potatoes and flattened rice and then sprinkled chopped cilantro and a squeeze of lime on top.

He pushed out a bowl of bataka pooha with a dollop of mango chutney and a cup of cha.

I knew this floor plan. I’d never been here before, but I knew every room. “Daniel,” I said and looked to him with tears in my eyes. “Is this our house?” He stuffed his hands into his pockets, pressed his lips together, and nodded, pleased.

Is this the ring from the gala shopping trip with Brandy? When she told me to try on rings while I was there because she wanted to give Jackson an idea for her engagement ring?” “Yep.” “Think you’re slick, huh?” “Yep.

He raised himself onto his elbow, his temple cradled in his hand. “I won’t bite. Well, unless you want me to.” Butterflies thrashed against my insides at the thought of his lips on my body. I suddenly burst into laughter. “Remember what happened the last time you tried to bite me? I accidentally jumped and backhanded you.” That had been an erotic rendezvous, until he nipped my hip. He dropped his face into the pillow and groaned. “Mood killer.” “Heh.” I wiggled deeper into the covers, grinning.

Stories like A Drop of Venom give voice to survivors, while provoking all of us to think about what it means to be a hero, a monster, a good person.

Manisha is a nagin, her people hunted as monsters and rebels by the kingdom. To stay alive, Manisha must pretend to be a human orphan. She enters the service of the kingdom’s great temple, where she hides her true identity and tries to rise in rank, going deep “undercover” in the hopes that she may someday bring down the system from the inside. Pratyush is the last slayer, a hero born with epic strength and skill, who has his own reasons for disliking the kingdom, but who sees no choice except to honor his debt to the King and protect the kingdom from monsters. When Manisha and Pratyush meet, the chemistry between them is immediate, but love between them would be strictly forbidden.

A Drop of Venom is, for me, perhaps one of the most important, because it deals with issues that so many young readers will face in one way or another during their lives: fighting societal expectations, speaking truth to power, finding your authentic self, surviving trauma, claiming agency. Most of all, it asks the questions: If you had the power, would you be better than those who use power against you? What makes a monster, and what makes a hero?