On the jogging track, Rachel saw a jogger stop abruptly. He quivered from head to toe, in one fluid motion, as though something or someone cold passed right through him. Rachel guessed who could’ve caused it.
You should write, not to earn millions or booker prizes. You should write because no one else will do it for you.
Rachel and her ghost were sitting on a bench in Grant Park. A few feet ahead of them was the joggers’ track. The breath of the joggers’ mingled with the cold air, tried to stay alive, but died after a few seconds.
I was initiated into eating street food by one of my cousin sisters. During summer vacations, we used to travel to her hometown, Hyderabad, on a train. The focal point of the train journey was the samosas at Aler station.
When I look back and recollect all those countless lectures my father gave me, I realize that he has guided me, ached for me when I was going in the wrong path and strove to put me back on track. He had to be harsh with me and deal with my anger and sullenness.
On June 1st, my Mother was so happy and excited. I have not seen her that happy even for my marriage. She was on the drug of Telangana. For days, my father spoke only about jubilation on the faces of the Telangana people and how everybody will be on the streets to participate in the formation of Telangana.
At outset, I felt that this girl has done nothing extraordinary. She only wrote a blog on BBC under a pen name. But, if you are aware of the power of Taliban and how she could be punished for her acts, then indeed she has done a feat which requires extreme courage.
