Review A to Z - Never Let Me Go – Kazuo Ishiguro

"Kazuo Ishiguro is an Author you wish you could be. Every book that I have read of his has had poise, elegance, uniqueness and a creativity that very few Authors are capable of. Each book he writes is vastly different from the other and leaves a mark on the reader not only with his writing abilities but the characters he creates through each of them." - Seeta Bodke

Here I introduce you to my guest author for the day. Seeta Bodke is a Bangalore based blogger, whom I met on a blogging community. She is an avid reader, appreciative of good work and quietly churns out amazing posts at her blog called "The Write Side". I requested her to do a guest post for my blog and she sweetly agreed to do a book review for letter N. So ladies and Gentlemen, without taking much time of yours, I present to you rest of the review of Never Let Me Go by Seeta Bodke.

Never Let Me Go is probably one of the finest of his works. While Remains of the Day continues to remain my personal favourite, this particular piece of work touches a chord in an entirely different way.

Kathy a ‘Carer’ for ‘Donors’ reminisces her childhood and her days at Hailsham School, esp. the friendship she shares with fellow students Tommy and Ruth. As she rummages through her chest of memories, you realize that Kathy and her friends have always been different from ‘normal’ people. They are taught by teachers called ‘Guardians’ who focus more on Arts and Humanities rather than the usual Mathematics and Science one would expect in school. As they grow up, one of the ‘Guardians’ Ms. Lucy tells them they are not ‘normal’ and cannot have babies like ‘normal’ people can. She also lets out that they are meant to be carers and then donors when they grow up, ‘completing’ their life while doing those donations. Despite the fate that has already been decided for them, Kathy and her friends lead a peaceful life completely oblivious to what the real world is really like. For them, the life that is set out for them is what is ‘normal’ and it is what they live for.

Her friendship with Tommy is one with a depth of emotion and attachment which does not result into a relationship of love. Not until much later, when Ruth confesses to have let her jealousies keep them apart. All this; despite the knowledge of how short their lives really are.

As Kathy took me down her memory lane, it made me realize how uncertain life actually is and how despite all odds, we learn to live with what we have.

Kazuo Ishiguro as always does a brilliant job of presenting the past, esp. of portraying incidents across time while efortlessly moving forward and back to tie them all together. The vivid descriptions he gives to each of Kathy’s memories makes you feel as if you have lived all of them along with Kathy and her friends. Certain incidents stand out for e.g. the absence of a imagery description of Norfolk makes the students feel it is a long lost place in England where all long lost things could be found. When Kathy finds a copy of her lost music tape in a second hand shop in Norfolk, that story Ishiguro had built comes to life. Similarly his descriptions of the surroundings make you visualize places as if you have been there.

Ishiguri weaves this sinister yet tragic tale of clone programs for organ donations entirely based on emotion without relying on scientific research for emphasis. His ability to portray the sentiments is what makes this book stand apart.

‘Never Let Me Go’ a song from the tape Kathy owns sums up this moving story of how cruel the world can be. While Kathy imagines an impossible dream of having a baby when she hears the lyrics “Never Let Me Go, Oh baby, baby never let me go”, when ‘Madame’ catches her holding a pillow and dancing to the music she sees it as a little girl tightly clinging on to her old kind world… one that she knew would not remain forever.

With Never Let Me Go, Ishiguro paints a distressing picture of how inhuman humanity can be. This book breaks your heart into tiny pieces and yet makes you marvel at the talent of this wonderful Author.

While it might make you shed a tear, do pick this book for the love of the written word. 

Reviews A to Z -Isle of Man – Ellan Vannin

Here we are! Yet another Thursday with a travel tale and do you know what's special? Well! I can't wait to happily announce that this travel review (a merger between A to Z and travel tales) is a guest post by none other than Sid Balachandran. He writes at  I write Those, I took those and Foodness me. I first got to know him through his on-going project Project 365 and have been really inspired by his writing. A few weeks ago, while planning for the A to Z challenge, I requested him to write a guest post and he agreed to write a post for "I". Here he has written a wonderful review cum travelogue of Isle of Man for my little blog. So without wasting much of your time with my blabber, I pass on to Sid's words. 

Before we go ahead, I’d like to do a group activity. So stretch your right hand out. And now your left hand. Now, rotate your hands so that your palms face each other. Now spread them apart a bit more. A little bit more. Aww….here’s a hug back for you. Welcome to my first ever travel post. And I’m pleased to have the lovely Sugandha host it on her gorgeous blog.

Travelling is something that is very dear to me. Probably as much as both writing and photography are. So, when Sugandha told me that she’d like me to do a travel post for her, on a place starting with the letter “I” (so it blended in with her A-to-Z challenge), I pondered over it for a few minutes. My mind had gone blank. And then I looked up, and glanced at my laptop’s wallpaper. There it was, literally screaming “Me, me…..talk about me!”. I smiled, and typed a “yes” to Sugandha and connected my hard drive up to get the photos that I required. It was time to let the world know about one of the lesser known places in Europe - the beautiful and dynamic, Isle of Man. 

Now, unless you follow car racing, it is quite unlikely that you’d know about this nature-lover’s delight, nestled secretly between the islands of Great Britain and Ireland, right in the middle of gorgeous blue-green Irish Sea. My wife, Janaki and I have always ended up on offbeat and adventurous holidays. It wasn’t always by choice. Sometimes, it was just bound by monetary and time constraints. And the IOM was one such amazing discovery. 

Geographically, the island is tiny. At 33 miles in length and 13 miles in width, I personally am surprised that it is such a hub of bustling activity all through the year. Now, if you’ve ever been to Britain, you’ll know that everything revolves around the unpredictable nature of weather. But IOM is slightly different. Since it’s in a very central position right between the British Isles and the Irish Sea, it has reasonably temperate climate, making it a perfect all year round destination. And here’s the most amazing fact - though it’s so small, it has a coastline that stretches for about 100 miles and even a mountain. Wonders of nature eh?

Culturally, the IOM is extremely diverse. It has not just Irish and English influences, but also Viking, Celtic and of course their very own Manx culture too. And it is this cultural variety that sets the IOM apart from some of the other isles and islands around the coast of Britain. It’s a place where people can still wow you with tales of sea-monsters, giants, fierce battles, brownies and even fairies. Why, it’s even got a “Fairy Bridge”, where there is still this whimsically cute belief of wishing the fairies a “Good Morning” or even a “Good Day”. So much so, that a lot of racers who take part in the IOM TT and annual Manx Grand Prix, often visit the Fairy bridge before setting up for the practices for the races. Though we personally hoped we’d be able to see a fairy or two, we had to make do with a few amazing statuettes that an old Manx mason had created, thousands of years ago.

Politically, the island is a self-governing British Crown dependency. Which means though they’re not legally part of the UK, the British government is responsible for its external and defence affairs. The IOM has the oldest continuous parliament in the world, Tynwald, which dates back over 1000 years. Even today, you can tour the Tynwald building and visit Tynwald hill, where the parliament meets in open air, once a year.

The IOM has 9 major towns and villages, all of them unique in their own right. Douglas, the island's capital, is a vibrant and busy town, and a shopper's delight. Amazing restaurants (particularly Indian...yep, we are everywhere), comfortable hotels and B&Bs and almost every popular UK retail outlet, make this the best town to stay in, if you want to be closer to all the action. Ramsey, the island's second largest town boasts of a working harbor and open expanses of sand and shingle beach throughout. But the true hero of Ramsey is the 40 acre Mooragh park, a truly have-it- all leisure facility with tennis courts, bowling greens, beautifully manicured gardens, a large boating lake and children's activity center. With quaint, narrow streets and a magnificent harbor lined with rows after rows of fishing boats, Peel reminds you of a unique setting that you would often read about in those English classics.  Peel also boasts of the ruins of the magnificent castle, which dates back to the 11th century. If I had to describe Port Erin in one phrase, it would be "imposing and majestic". Located within a beautiful bay with a soft, golden sandy beach, the northern most point is dominated by the towering Bradda Head. The Bradda Head boasts of being the location of the winning prize for the Kodak World photography contest in 2005. The only way to get to Bradda head is via a nature trail, which truth be told, has spectacular and at times, mind numbing views.  If you are an avid bibliophile like me, be sure you pack a book or two, as nothing can give you more pleasure than lying down on the spectacular hill side and enjoying a good book while the sea side breeze gently caresses your hair (or your head, for the follically challenged).

 

Onchan, though one of the smaller villages on the IOM, has a number of unique attractions of its own, ranging from the Onchan Leisure Park and Stadium offering a number of activities from Stock car Racing to bowling. It is a delightful old-style village, where you could relax idly over some amazing food. Port St. Mary is a picturesque coastal village, where you can often find plenty of yachts and is one of the starting points of the excellent organized coastal walks available. If you find Douglas a tad bit too crowded and touristy for your liking, Port St. Mary serves as an excellent alternate accommodation location. Now, Douglas wasn’t always the island’s capital. It used to be another castle-dominated town called, no surprise here, Castletown. Castle Rushen, though no longer functioning as one, is still magnificently preserved and open to visitors. Definitely worth a visit, and if you aren’t claustrophobic, do try climbing up the steep and narrow winding staircase to the top. St. Johns, thought not a town per se, is said to be a village that comes alive during the Manx national day on July 5th, and is said to be a sight to behold. Sadly, we had visited a few days prior to the national day, and hence didn’t get a chance to view this glorious spectacle. Probably the most spectacular town of the lot is Laxey, which is set in a beautiful, deep valley which boasts of magnificence Dhoons (picturesque valleys) and the famous Laxey wheel and the mines.

What I loved the most about the IOM is that there are a host of activities that we can indulge in. For the adventure seekers, there are activities such as stock car racing, angling, flying, mountain biking, kayaking, horse riding and yachting, just to name of a few. Being an island, it’s no surprise that IOM boasts of some of the best beaches that I’ve ever seen. Miles after miles, of pristine, golden sandy beaches, inviting you to lie down and bask in the magical warmth of the sun. And for nature lovers like me, you have those long nature trails, some of them through amazing deep valleys (known as Glens). If you like a bit of adventure with your nature trail, make sure you check out the DHOON Glen, which is the deepest glen on the island, and the path is paved with steep inclines, and wooden steps which are often found to be missing, and if present, they are very slippery and difficult to navigate. There is a sign in Manx, displayed above the hidden entrance, which translates to “ Welcome to the Dhoon Glen. She will make you work hard to see her beauty. “ And it’s true. Because it’s a 198 steps back to the top, if you can find the steps that is. At the bottom of the glen, you get to behold the main waterfall, known as the "Inneen Vooar" or "Big Girl”. We'd read an interesting story that said that name of the waterfall was because a young girl had drowned in the pool below the waterfall and it is said that her ghost haunts the glen to this day. And for that reason, it wasn’t recommended that anyone stay back past sunset. Though, the scientific side of me argued out the reason for the curfew was that there were no lights to guide you back, just hearing the wind whistle through the trees and the sound of the waterfall kind of spooked us out. Needless to say, we literally ran back up the 198 steps. 

Getting around the IOM is delightfully easy. Buses are frequent and you always have the option of horse driven trams, an age-old electric railway and of course, the steam railway which dates back to 1874. And if you’re there, you need to definitely check out the Snaefell mountain railway (refer back to my earlier point about the “only mountain” on the island). Since I cannot do enough justice in words, I’ll let a couple of photographs do the talking :)

                           

Don't let the fact that IOM is in the middle of a sea deter you from travelling to this gem of a place. It is well connected both by air and sea, from most major British and Irish cities. We took the ferry from Liverpool, and it was a delightful four-hour ride, and we managed to spot a couple of basking sharks (They are huge!) and some bottle nosed dolphins.

As far my research stated, when we visited, which was in 2011, if you had a UK Visa, you could travel to the Isle of Man. So the next time you’re in the UK, make sure you reserve 3-4 days to explore this beautiful island and enjoy the hospitality that it has to offer. And believe me, when it’s time to go back, you will do so only with a very heavy, yet joyous heart, filled with lovely memories, a waistline that is bound to have increased a few inches and a camera loaded with stunning photos. But it’s not just its extensive coastline, stunning landscapes, unspoilt beaches and deep valleys that made the isle so special to us. It’s also because, that’s where we discovered that we “two” were about to become “three” :)

 And before I wrap this post up, I’d like to leave you with panoramic photographs of two gorgeous Isle of Man towns. Take a peek, and let me know if you think it’s worth visiting or not J

Does the Camera See What The Soul Sees?

Did you miss the Travel tale on Thursday yesterday? On 13th we were discussing travel tips that went wrong for me, and to my relief I am not alone. This Thursday (oh well, Friday!) brings to us a guest blogger who has graciously decided to do one of her many brilliant travel posts for my blog. Divya Rai of A borrowed backpack is a traveler with a love of writing and photography. Also, of what I know her, she is a designer, an enthusiast, she is always trying out new things, experimenting, following her dreams and is pretty much good at what she does. Her blog has been featured in Hindustan times Blog of the week.

So now, without wasting much of your time, I pass on to Divya who shares with us, her thoughts on camera vs naked eye.

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Camera, as we know, is a fabulous device that captures the moment beautifully, freezing the foot-prints of time for us. The joy it brings to the photographer and the subject, cannot be questioned. Or the smile it brings on to our face when we look back at those pictures re-living the moment, cannot be ignored. But the question is: how will you ever re-live when you haven’t lived it in the first place? If you can’t relive the moment looking at an image, isn’t it just a digital certification of the moment?

Don’t get me wrong. I am not trying to undermine technology here. Or the happiness one experiences while clicking oneself, and their loved ones. Or, for the matter, the basic instinct of desiring acceptance from one’s peers and the society.  What, in fact I really wish to pin-point is our addiction to it. Essentially, the point from where one should draw the line between whether to let the moment flow, or freeze it.  

Ever noticed how you feel a “sense of deprivation” when the smart phone refuses to upload your perfectly clicked selfie, along with a ‘check-in’ that could have guaranteed a respectable number of ‘likes and comments’ on your favorite social media?  Make a very careful note of that feeling. It is a resultant of unhealthy mix of social and competitive edge to a skill called photography. It makes it all the more of an intruder in the emotional pattern of the occasion.

What happened to the old school way of living an experience? Of cherishing it with five senses, instead of trying to click the perfect photograph? When did we, on the way, gain the baggage of capturing the happiness instead of living it, thereby giving way to a complicated digital dilemma? In short, when did the camera become more important than the human eye and the experience it brings in return?

When I say ‘experience a moment’ what I really mean is the subtle intangibles of the occasion. An event is a series of moments that are woven with great intricacy. In between the consecutive moments, are the crevasses that a photographer forever struggles to minimize. And during this struggle, is the moment lost to a mix of the digital advancement and human behavioral-peculiarity.  How will the camera capture the languid tranquility of the breeze in a small town? Or the silent promises that the eyes make? Or the moment you fall in love? For me, life is in these moments that the camera’s sensor cannot capture, rest everything is a stain on the fabric of time. Trust me on that.

When was the last time you got over your ‘itch’ to freeze a juncture in time, instead of simply experiencing it? 

Ok. To get a better grip on the matter, let us do this little exercise:

 Take out your favourite photograph. Try and describe the moment in a way that I get to live it through your words, WITHOUT any help of the photograph. Tell me if you are able to convey the intangibles. If you are, then I must congratulate you for experiencing the moment too. Other than that, as I say, it is just a digital certification of the moment. 

I’ll state a real life example here. I know a fair number of people who went to experience the ‘Holi’ celebration at Vrindavan, in Uttar Pradesh recently. I too was one of the lucky souls who could attend both the events. What was highly blasphemous to the event was the aggression with which photographers were running around here and there, chasing the mirage called the ‘perfect shot’. I doubt if they could lose themselves to the jubilant festivity around them. I am sure they managed to click gorgeous images and love flipping though the album, but can they still smell the ‘gulaal’ in the air?

 It is all about that. 

Being able to smell the ‘gulaal’, long after it is all gone J. 

Once, when travel meant something else

So, Travel Tale on Thursday is here again. And guess what? We have a guest for this Thursday, writing an offbeat post of her Travel tale. Sakshi Nanda, of Between Write and Wrong does shubh aarambh of her travel tales at my humble abode.

Without wasting much of the time, I now pass on the baton to her -

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Steeped in nostalgia I write this.

Of life and times when school was special even in its sameness of routine and evening play among kids for the newness, for who knew who the ‘denner’ would be that day? Of times when Sundays meant meals on a chatai in the garden, all 12 members of this joint-family together and festivals nothing short of spectacular. And of a life when travel did not mean packing large suit cases and leaving the house home-alone but something else entirely …

Say, going to Paltan Bazaar the day before Diwali. A kilometer’s walk, which at 7 years of age seemed like visiting another city. Dressed in my fineries, mirror work on a suit especially altered to fit me, walking with a skip in my step matching in energy the silver buntings lining the road, dancing in the festive wind. There, we crossed our ‘Chitra Kutir’ already, where all 6 children of the family went to learn to draw birds and setting Suns. Crossing roads that seemed a mile wide, no traffic lights though. And then it would loom large, the red 6-sided clock tower – one of its kind. They say once the clocks worked just fine. The gongs could be heard till our house, clearest at mid-night. ‘Clock tower! We have reached the clock-tower’, the younger two would chime. I would join in too, holding the elder sisters’ hands so tight. Rejoice! Like a pilgrim’s progress complete. Beyond the big banyan tree by the tower’s side lay Paltan Bazaar. Decorated like a bride, herself welcoming us with a broad smile and open arms. And then we would enter and shop – for puja and patakhas, diyas and sweets. A kilometer away from our protected space, but happy as if it was another world. A different world we had travelled to that day.

But we needed to charge our Fiat Padmini too.

Sunday evenings were reserved for a trip up Rajpur road, beyond Jakhan and to the pakora shop there. 6 kilometers and 45 minutes of travel, done at the speed of a very lazy Sunday light, by my uncle. 6 kids variously seated within. Sardarji key Pakorey, right where the nearly-flat road would end to climb up to the Everest, as if. The fiat windows rolled down would show us green hills and houses so distant from each other. Big, but standing so alone. Not lonely though, for thick trees lined the roads and stood as sentinels to the mansions too. And soon enough, we would smell the mixed pakoras rising crisp from the hot oil. Spot the long hungry queue too. In no time, the oily paper bag would stare at us with its empty mouth. On a stomach full to the brim, we would walk around a monastery a few steps away. Tibetan was not a word we knew. We were blissfully ignorant of who the people in this neighborhood were, or the pain behind their coming here. We were 6 kilometers away from our home. At the foot of the hills which held Mussoorie up. That is all that mattered. For so much we had travelled!  

Mussoorie was special.

Three Bajaj Chetaks, a complete family on each and off we would go, to map all 30 kilometers. The farthest that I remember, as a girl sitting between her father and her mother. With a kid brother standing between my father and the handle, with enough room near his feet for rajma-chawal packed in a casserole. To be had at a bench in Company Bag, destination Mussoorie. This was flying, on wheels. Wind in the hair, truly. I remember how silent we would be. Shh, don’t disturb papa while he’s riding in the hills. Or maybe because, we did not feel the need to talk. Just travel higher and higher, taking in the valley with our silence. Being one with what home meant spread below in the vale, even when whirring so many meters above it. Rolling back down in the evening then, all three scooters side-by-side. Sunset time, and the birds would return to their nests. They have to. All travels must come to an end.

To our child minds, travel meant being a certain distance away from home. No Samsonite brimming over with clothes, or tickets to fancy places. There were so many people in the house, so many cousins to keep you company, and so many new places to visit “far” and “near”. Experiences to gather, impressions to form and memories to cherish.

All, steeped in nostalgia.

Like I am now, thinking about what travel meant when I did not know what all it could mean.  

What she means to me!

She might have not taught me to walk,

But she taught me to walk straight.

She must have not taught me my first words,

But she taught me to speak my mind.

She taught me to be fearless,

She taught me to believe in myself.

She might have not given me birth,

She saved me from dying.

She might have not raised me up,

She gave me my personality.

She shaped my life,

She directed my thoughts.

She loved me and,

She taught me to love.

She might not be my mother,

She is my mentor.

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This post is written for the Project 365 program at We Post Daily aimed at posting at least once a day, based on the prompts provided. I am the guest author for the month of February. The prompt for today is Mentor - Have you ever had a mentor? What was the greatest lesson you learned from him or her?

My mentor has pretty much been an essential part of my life. She has taught me pretty much everything I know.

Have you found Shades of Life on Facebook yet? Please check it out here. 

Please take out time to read more about the featured blogger for the month of February "Kathy Combs" here.

Also, check out the post by a non-blogger who penned down her feeling.

Guests are always welcomed at Shades of Life. Drop me a line at sugandha118@gmail.com and I would love to share your thoughts here.

When a non-blogger blogs - A stranger and the feelings

Remember that Shades of Life welcomed all non-bloggers to share their feelings? Here we are with our first guest.

Jyoti Bhavsar my colleague and friend - decided to share her poem with  me for all of us.

I'd say Jyoti is one who take life heads-on as it comes. She is bright and bubbly. Recently she decided to give away her Mumbaikar badge and joined us Delhiites. She wants to write her feelings with her pen-name Angel

Here is A Stranger and the feelings by an Angel.

He talked about the distance,

He maintained between the two people,

But i wish he could have felt the,

Pure feelings and her amazing soul …..

He always took everything practically,

Because he seems to be a practial fool,

Or he is scarded of love, and just ignores

With fear of losing life goal….

The world is full of love, but….

Heart knocks only some doors,

By mistake if it knocks the wrong,

Then just love the moment and move on…

I am happy that he is genuine and honest,

I want him to be happy and great as always,

His smile is birhgt to make someone smile,

May god bless him and his beautiful life.

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Did you just loved the concept? Know someone who would love to write once in a while? Guests are always welcomed at Shades of Life. Drop me a line at sugandha118@gmail.com and I would love to share your thoughts here. You can also ping me on facebook or leave a comment.

Have you found Shades of Life on Facebook yet? Please check it out here. 

Please take out time to read more about the featured blogger for the month of February "Kathy Combs" here.

Oh! I hate smartphones...

“Tring Tring” “Tring Tring” the phone buzzed at its loudest self, waking me up from a deep sleep. I got up with a jerk to answer, only to realize that it was an alarm. My phone has replaced my bedside clock and hence the confusion between alarm tone and ringtone.

After a couple of snoozes, I woke up and dialed mom. I spoke to her while getting ready for work.

As usual, I was running late for work. These snooze options in the phones is just so annoying. 

Once I got down of my house, I realized I had forgotten my phone at home. I rushed up to take it while the cab driver insisted on blowing the horn while I did so.

On my way to work, I opened my e-reader and read the daily news on my phone.  The world has nothing but news of murders and politics. So I moved to reading a novel.

As I got down of my cab I whatsapped a couple of friends to make plan for evening.

Once in office, I couldn’t comprehend my to-do list. My phone came to my rescue. I made a day plan and set a reminder.

Around coffee break, the FB app reminded me that it was my cousin’s birthday. I did a quick facetime with her and got back to work.

I got back to work and my phone was buzzing once again. A few work calls later, I got back to my seat and as I sat for work my boss called me.

Leaving my phone on my seat, I went to attend a meeting, only to realize it would have been easier if I could record boss’s instruction and later make a note of the same.

I came back to find a reminder for my credit card bill. Since my office server has blocked most of the sites, I used my phone to transfer money.

I spent rest of the day off my phone except referring to notes or playing a game of candy crush every once in a while. (Oh ya, I also once checked my blog stats during lunch)

On my way back, I realized that I didn’t know direction to the place I was supposed to meet my friends. I took out my phone to navigate when my phone showed me early signs of tiredness. However, I still did a quick navigation to the restaurant and found that it was 12 kms.

I closed all apps and prayed for good health of my phone. However, there are many who conspired against it. My friends kept on calling, insisting that I tell them where I am. I kept keeping the call to a short conversation and resisted all urge to check my whatsapp.

Some two kms short to destination, my phone gave up. There I was, with a dead phone and no directions.

I could have called someone from driver’s phone, but I didn’t remember anyone’s number. My phone does it for me. So I got down and asked for the way to the place. It was getting late and I had to let my driver go. “This damn phone, why couldn’t it last a bit longer” I thought to myself.

I had to send my boss an email of the minutes of meeting and I had thought I’d do it on my way. Now I would have to stay up and do it at night.

Clock turned nine. I was supposed to meet my friends at eight thirty. We were standing on a wrong road again. Why did my friends have to choose this place? I could have checked other places on this new app and suggested them. But of course, I couldn’t do it with a dead phone.

Finally asking at every junction and several wrong turns later I managed to find the place at nine thirty.

My friends were worried, my mother had called up my roommate to check where I was, the dinner was over and there I was hassled up and tired, all because of a dead phone.

These smartphones, I tell you, they come with such pathetic battery backup that it makes your life hell.

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This post is written for the Project 365 program at We Post Daily aimed at posting at least once a day, based on the prompts provided. I am the guest author for the month of February. The prompt for today is Call me, maybe - "Describe your relationship with your phone. Is it your lifeline, a buzzing nuisance, or something in between? "

I had a good laugh writing this post. Our smartphones have replaced so many things in our life and have made it easier in a lot of ways. But like all gadgets, it has a battery life and we cannot blame the poor phone to not stand up by our side at critical times.

Have you found Shades of Life on Facebook yet? Please check it out here. 

Please take out time to read more about the featured blogger for the month of February "Kathy Combs" here.

Guests are always welcomed at Shades of Life. Drop me a line at sugandha118@gmail.com and I would love to share your thoughts here.