Tag Archives: book lover

Book Suggestions, please!!

I don’t understand what happens, and how this happens, but as soon as the holiday season kicks in, I start losing myself to negativity and uncertainty. I start losing all the hope and faith inside of me, and give in to the terrible anxiety and fear. These times are really trying, and however much I try it is extremely difficult to come out of it easily.

As always my consolation comes from books, being the recluse that I am. But somehow, whatever I am getting hold of recently seems to be depressing, either there is someone who dies, or something that keeps the protagonist in constant misery, there is only pain and suffering in what I am reading too.

So, basically I need book suggestions that do not include any kind of heartache. Please, I am really clinging onto you guys now, I need to revive my faith and get back on the right track.

I want to start my new year with something that brings smile to my face, and not with something that leaves me dejected and wondering.

Anything, please…. (You must know I am desperate, if only to read something good.)

 

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A Man With The Mask

Happy, ecstatic, joyous, exuberant, there is just no one word to define the feeling when someone special is going to take you out on a date.

And to make the occasion extra special I go to extreme terms and dress up just for him. With a little bit of lipstick, a red dress, and a pair of high heels I am ready right on time. Of course I’ll be ready on time, if I’d be preparing for hours. Restless, I check the windows for any sign of his car, the phone for any texts. And just a few minutes later a horn blows off, and I am pretty sure it’s him.

Hiding behind the curtains, I take a glimpse, confirming that it’s him. Then, composing myself I go to the door to welcome him. Out of habit, I look through the peep hole.

It is not him. There is no one.

The doorbell rings again, constantly.

It is definitely not him.

I look through it again. And I fall back a couple of steps, trying to hold onto something, to be stable. I have never seen such a creature in my life. There is a lean, bony man outside, looking right at me, right at that tiny hole, making his face larger. He is smiling at it, smiling cunningly. He has a dark complexion, with weird teeth, and ears too big for any human face. He is wearing a black mask. He is laughing; I can hear it through the sound proof door. And just when I gulp down the saliva from my mouth, he starts banging on the door, laughing, and screaming, ‘I am going to get you.”

I double lock the door, rush to the windows and lock them too. I run to my room, locking the balcony, bolting every possible door and window, increasing the claustrophobia within. The air grows thick; I am sweaty, unable to breathe, shivering with fear and rage. Doubt and apprehension fill my mind.

Where is he?

Who is this creature?

What is going on?

What am I supposed to do?

I rush to grab my phone, and somehow the battery is drained, wasn’t it charged about 80%, right before he was to come?

The landline is dead.

And then the power goes off.

The next thing I know is I am in my bed, hardly breathing, craving for some air, my mouth is dry, and the mascara from my eyes has spread beyond my pink cheeks. I lay quite, befriending silence, trying to listen to any sound.  I have one arm under the pillow, shivering, holding a small gun, when I hear footsteps.

It couldn’t be.

I locked everything.

The shadow neared.

And my terror augmented.

Any thought of the date, a someone special, was nowhere in my mind now.

And then that lean, dark and bony creature entered my room.

His laugh sent shivers down me, and all my mind could think of was “Why me?”

The mask was not my illusion; it was a confirmation, the only common link among all the recent rape cases in the town, of all the women who were raped and murdered. He was the same man, the man with the mask!

He was a serial killer.

In my house?

Our eyes met, and he bent to grab my legs.

I kicked and waved with all my might, tears stinging my eyes. I got up, grabbed the blanket and covered my body, and with the other hand, I held the gun, pointing right at him.

Only it was not a gun. Instead it was a bed side lamp.

Only, there was no serial killer in my room, there was no one.

Only, I had been dreaming, dreaming the plot of the book that I am currently reading.

All sweaty, and craving for some air, I put down the lamp silently, and yet hesitated to open the windows. My mouth went dry at the mere thought of the dream. Sure, it was just a dream but I had seen it too closely.

I gulped down a glass of water, splashing some onto my face and went back to bed not daring to go outside, not wanting to even take a peek outside, till the sun came up.

 

PS: Currently reading,  ‘A Thin Dark Line’ by Tami Hoag.

Reading -A Refuge

To acquire the habit of reading is to construct for yourself a refuge from almost all the miseries of life.

-William Somerset Maugham

 

Mystery ruin

I miss something today. Somehow I landed up on this thought today and it has occupied my mind since, kept my face smiling, and my heart overwhelmed.

It goes back to my college days where I was surrounded by people with same interests as me. I wouldn’t say all of them were my ‘friends’ but it was good to have them around, discuss things; share matters and have healthy arguments sometimes. All I am talking about is literature, and mostly reading books.

An episode came to my mind today, where I was excitedly talking about a book to a classmate, and she was shushing me constantly, she did not want to hear a word, did not want to know what I thought, what the book was all about, only because she hadn’t read it. And all this while I was enjoying, trying to tell her what actually happens, how the plot unfolds, what exactly was the mystery. She did this to me too when she would read something before me. In fact all of us did this to each other, it was kind of fun, but honestly we would never tell what actually happens. Why ruin the suspense, right? But it was fun to have them around.

I just miss them today, now that I am no longer among such people, in an absolutely different world. It would be good to just try and ruin the suspense for a change.

Bookish Problem

So today’s problem is, stacking books!!!!!

I have a small room to myself which till date I have been sharing with my brother. He is now studying in a different city but most of his belongings are here, so again it leaves me with no extra space. The room has 2 small wardrobes, amid which there is a dresser with few chest of drawers and a study table big enough to cram the room.

Basically no shelf, rack, or a separate space to store books.

Over the time, I have filled my study table and all its drawers with my novels, after which the drawers below the dresser came. Can you believe it? Novels in the space where one would usually find accessories, lipsticks, nail paints and what not. And now, I am literally out of space!!

I don’t know where the following books would go. But I am pretty sure the books wouldn’t stop coming!

Occasionally I do threaten my brother to vacate his wardrobe so that I can cram books there, but in return I get to hear I can throw away all my clothes and replace it with books, if I am so desperate for space.

Does anyone relate to it? Any one of you face the same book problems, or is it only me who always runs out of space!