A Good Book

photo-13A book is not necessarily a good book if you cannot put it down once you start reading it, or if you can finish reading the whole novel in one sitting or in a few days. Sometimes it can also mean, that in that book there would be no words beautifully strung together which you can savour nor any philosophical truths you can ponder upon.

-JofelynMK

First 20 Pages Of Babar And The Wolves In The Forest

Here are the first 20 pages of Babar And The Wolves In The Forest.

The book has 40 illustrated pages. It is a coming of age story  of one dog’s adventure in the hills of the Himalayas.  It is also

a story of friendship  between two dogs, Babar and Sheru.

 Find out  how Babar  learn an important lesson in life after a frightening encounter

with wolves in the forest.

Get your copy here.

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My Book Is Now Available on Amazon Kindle

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My book, Babar The Naughty Puppy And The Ladies Who Came To Tea, is now available on Amazon Kindle for download. Do check this link http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00FITRYGG. They provide about five free sample pages.

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I was so excited to see this page in the morning. 🙂

In reality, every reader, while he is reading, is the reader of his own self

The writer’s work is merely a kind of optical instrument, which he offers to the reader to permit him to discern what, without the book, he would perhaps never have seen in himself. The reader’s recognition in his own self of what the book says is the proof of its truth.

—Marcel Proust, Le temps retrouvé

A Borrowed Memory

Sometimes memories tease me
In the recess of my mind
I see faces I do not recognize
And landscapes where I have not been
And series of events not from my life

A feeling of sadness swirls in my heart
A remembered pain which is not mine
I pause in wonder as I recognize
I lived a thousand lives in thousand places
In between the pages of a book

JMKhapra

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A novel is to be read for enjoyment

If it doesn’t give that, it is, so far as the reader is concerned , valueless. In this respect every reader is his own best critic, for he alone knows what he enjoys and what he doesn’t. I think, however, that the novelist may claim that you do not do him justice unless you admit that he has the right to demand something of his readers. He has the right to demand that they should possess the small amount of application that is needed to read a book of three or four hundred pages. He has the right to demand that they should have sufficient imagination to be able to interest themselves in the lives, joys and sorrows, tribulations, dangers and adventures of the characters of his invention. Unless a reader is able to give something of himself, he cannot get from a novel the best it has to give. And if he isn’t able to do that, he had better not read at all. There is no obligation to read a work of fiction.

-Somerset Maugham, Ten Novels And Their Authors

Bitter Tears Shattered Hearts

 

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She stared at Ashok, unblinking. He repeated what he said thinking he did not understand her.

” I am getting married next month.”

Shots of pain in her eyes this time. Ashok flinched. He felt a tight squeeze in his heart.

She finally blinked and a couple of tears slid down her cheeks.

” Why? Is there nothing you can do?” her voice breaking.

Ashok looked down. ” You know how it is. You’ve met them. They would never change their minds. My mother has not been eating for weeks. I have to give in or she might die.”

She stood up slowly from the bed as if in a dream.

Ashok started when she let out scream. Sobbing, she turned to him. ” I hate you! I hate you. You are so weak!” she slapped him repeatedly. Ashok let her. Finding penance in her rage.

” Why did you even let me hope. I built a dream of a life with you. I was willing to live a life less than what I deserved! Damn you! You promised you will not marry anybody if we cannot be together!”

” I tried. You know I tried. I hold it off as long as I could.”

Tears flowing ceaselessly she shouted, ” That is not enough!”

Ashok held her hands tightly close to his chest silencing her. ” I know.”

Both of them sobbed in each other’s arms when their passionate grief subsided.

“It is you I love. You know that.” he whispered raining down kisses on her wet face.

“Your love is useless if you can’t fight for it. Be a man damn it!”

“I’m sorry…”

She pushed him away and turned her back on him. He felt the finality of goodbye when she left his arms. Heaviness settled in his heart as he stared at her unforgiving back. Arms around herself. Her body twisted in grief.

Silently he walked out of her apartment closing the door softly. Taking a deep breath he walked on without knowing where he was going unmindful of the rain pouring down on him. Gloom swallowed his being. Dark days. Only dark days ahead. He thought.

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A Parallel Life

© JMKhapra

To Be A Woman Independent And Single

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What is terrible is that after every one of the phases of my life is finished, I am left with no more than some banal commonplace that everyone knows; in this case , that women’s emotions are still fitted for a kind of society that no longer exists. My deep emotions, my real ones, are to do with my relationship with a man. One man. But I don’t live that kind of life and I know few woman who do. So what I feel is irrelevant and silly…I am always coming to a conclusion that my real emotions are foolish, I am always having, as it were, to cancel myself out. I ought to be like a man, caring more for my work than for people; I ought to put my work first, and take men as they come, or find an ordinary comfortable man for bread and butter reasons– but I won’t do it, I can’t be like that…

Ella from The Golden Notebook by Doris Lessing

This novel have me in a tight grip. As I turned the pages I get sucked more and more into it. I can feel my mood changing, my being, my thoughts, influenced. My dreams becoming vivid intermingling with the characters in the book as if I am living their lives.

The Author a woman. The protagonist a woman who is writing about the life of a woman in the 1950s. About a period of time when the roles of women were set for change. Feminism was rising in a crescendo and women were breaking free from stereotypes but still galled at the fact that they still need the love of a man to make them happy. Her honesty stings. And still so relevant even today. The truth in her words scalds. It forces you to look at what you refuse to acknowledge.I am like a moth drawn to a fire. I cannot stop reading even if it burns me.

©JMKhapra

Illustration by Jofelyn M. Khapra

Portrait Of A Young Lady

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I was about half in love with her by the time we sat down. That’s the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty… you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are.

-J. D. Salinger, Catcher In The Rye

© painting by Jofelyn M. Khapra