Bookmarks and Popcorns

Recently, 2 of my friends saw my Amazon account and were surprised to see that I have only 3 reviews. And I was surprised that they found it unbelievable and I kinda know why. The thing is... I don't often buy books online. Why? Well, my mum never liked the habit of buying or hoarding books. So, when I was in my fifth grade, my sister introduced me to a lending library near my house. But my library days would require its own post. So let's skip that for now. During my college days though, I started saving. I would save a portion of my pocket money and buy a book from a little store near my college that sold second-hand books. My dad noticed this and took me to book fairs ever since. Even in book fairs, I chose to buy many second-hand books rather than a few new ones. The first time I bought a book with the utmost satisfaction, was when I had a job and bought a brand new book from a bookstore near my house with the money I had earned. I have been buying books and stationer...

  As a kid, I was not told many stories except for a few Indian Mythological ones. I still remember my friend's reaction when I told her that I have never read fairy tales and asked, "What is Sleeping Beauty?" Two years later, in my fourth grade, we had a period called Library. 👀 An entire 40 minutes in the school library, with books. That was the most absurd thing I had heard back then. But then, when the period actually arrived, when I stepped into the most clean and quiet place in the school, I discovered that just piles of books stacked against the unreachable length and breadth of 4 walls, could be the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Forty minutes later, when we were asked to return the books and head back to our class, I was sad. I, someone who ran at the idea of reading, felt like a piece of gum stuck to a chair and that huge table, unwilling to detach myself from there. I felt belonged. I felt a lot of things. But there was this one feeling that rushed over...

She It is a bright summer afternoon. Her ruffled brown hair shines a beautiful golden as the sunlight delicately touches her head. The occasional long breeze effortlessly sways by, making her ochre locks dance gracefully. She closes her eyes and lets the nature nurture her rare moment of small pleasures and hide her repulsive features. Nothing but an occasional soft gust on a busy day could be such a bliss for the little ten year old who works with her father, cleaning the empty plastic plates of eaten or leftover food.  She wears the frock that her father had bought her for Diwali, two years ago. It is torn here and there, has stains of all kind, and stinks a bit. Her dry hair screams it’s need for some oil. The repeated scratchings hints it has been days since she took a bath. Her chocolate brown skin has a lot of mosquito bites and her face is sweaty all over. But she is way too young and poor to notice any of this. She does not care about what she needs. She occas...