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252 pages, Paperback
First published March 29, 2014
She poured soaked rice in the cooker and lit the burner to medium flames. “I cleaned the rice before you came,” she informed without turning around. She placed the cooker on the burner, washed her hand, wiped it with a kitchen cloth and said, “So, either you can cut the onions or clean the prawns.” “I will take the onions,” I jumped at my option. She leaned over the working space and reached for a knife. From under the desk, she produced a couple of onions and placed them on the wooden cutting board. She slid the board toward me and said, “Slice them thin.” She moved around the kitchen, picking up a couple of dishes and the prawns bowl on her way back to the desk. She adjusted a trash can between her legs and began working on cleaning the prawns. Just watching her work around the kitchen was delightful.
Death is but the only bitter irony of life.
I am not the protagonist. I am a guy and there are circumstances.
Time is the biggest swindler; it skips on me when I am not looking.
There must be 120 ways to die , but the toughest part is not killing yourself but what happens after. Somebody will have to clean up after you, probably a friend or family, who will never recover from your decision.
There is a thing about our lives. Sometimes you believe you know yourselves far too well. It does not matter if you do. There will occur instances to remind you constantly of what you really are and where you are going to end up.
“Did you know that if we were surrounded by all the books in the world, we would not need to talk to say things to each other?”...
... It happened one Autumn.
On the Night of the Seventh Moon.
A Smooth Talking Stranger.
A Beautiful Mind.
Perfect.
It Had to be You.
Where Dreams Begin.
From This Day.
Love Story.
Nobody’s Baby But Mine.
Once and Always.
Dreaming of you.
I am Ok; You are Ok.
Everything is illuminated.
One Hundred Years of solitude.
For Better, For Worse, Forever.
Till Death do us apart.