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Visit the bookstore"It was a wonderful experience interacting with you and appreciate the way you have planned and executed the whole publication process within the agreed timelines.”
Subrat SaurabhAuthor of Kuch Woh PalPratima Kapur chanced upon writing in 2005.An artist by profession, Pratima wore many hats as an Army officer’s wife . . . a dramatist, choreographer, compère, interior designer, actor, model and teacher. Writing, however, has been by far the most satisfying experience for her . . . to be able to express her feelings and relate her stories in her books and illustrate them, is a gift she will be ever thankful for. Living presently with her mother Kuntala Muzumdar's husband Lt Gen Rana Kapur, and their spaniel, Cookie, in Pune, India, she divides her time between her home in the city and theiRead More...
Pratima Kapur chanced upon writing in 2005.
An artist by profession, Pratima wore many hats as an Army officer’s wife . . . a dramatist, choreographer, compère, interior designer, actor, model and teacher. Writing, however, has been by far the most satisfying experience for her . . . to be able to express her feelings and relate her stories in her books and illustrate them, is a gift she will be ever thankful for. Living presently with her mother Kuntala Muzumdar's husband Lt Gen Rana Kapur, and their spaniel, Cookie, in Pune, India, she divides her time between her home in the city and their farm, which is a little bit of Paradise that brings her all the inspiration she needs for her creative work.
Achievements
She was just twelve, tiny, delicate.
Today was the day! Groups of people silently filled the space in front of the entrance to their home. She watched as hordes of people peacefully made a single file and entered through the narrow gate.
Loud rumbling on her right disrupted the proceedings. She turned swiftly to see soldiers in the far distance... As she stood there watching them,
the soldiers knelt down, picked up their rifles and took ai
She was just twelve, tiny, delicate.
Today was the day! Groups of people silently filled the space in front of the entrance to their home. She watched as hordes of people peacefully made a single file and entered through the narrow gate.
Loud rumbling on her right disrupted the proceedings. She turned swiftly to see soldiers in the far distance... As she stood there watching them,
the soldiers knelt down, picked up their rifles and took aim.
Why were they armed? And why were their guns aimed in the direction of the crowds?
As she stared at them, the officers gave the command.
"Fire" she heard, as her joy turned to horror, as a volley of bullets tore through the masses. In terror, she watched them take aim once again and shoot at the crowd... wave upon wave of metal that destroyed everything in their path.
She stood there, unable to move, speak, or cry.
She stood by that wretched window, witnessing her entire life go up in flames.
Decades later, Poornima, a twenty one year old, recovering drug addict, chanced upon a diary written by a young girl. Old and forgotten, it had been tucked away at the back of a chiffonier in the garage...
Samaria, a young friend, is lonely, angry and sorrowful.
She has had to leave her friends and Pune suddenly, as her father, Col Samar Kamat had been posted to Mumbai.
It has been six months since Samaria came to Mumbai.
She hated it! Hated it! HATED IT!
She missed her friend, Monica, and her endless chatter. She missed the Principal, Sister Nazareth and her strict rules. She missed her home with the guava and mango trees.
She
Samaria, a young friend, is lonely, angry and sorrowful.
She has had to leave her friends and Pune suddenly, as her father, Col Samar Kamat had been posted to Mumbai.
It has been six months since Samaria came to Mumbai.
She hated it! Hated it! HATED IT!
She missed her friend, Monica, and her endless chatter. She missed the Principal, Sister Nazareth and her strict rules. She missed her home with the guava and mango trees.
She could not tell her neighbour's dog that she was leaving, and he would have been waiting every evening for the special snack. She had no friends in her new class. Her classmates tried to speak to her, but Samaria ignored them and sat by herself in a corner. After making several attempts, they ignored her too.
“I wish...,” she thought sadly, as tears ran down her cheeks.
Does someone listen to Samaria's cry for help? Does she make new friends?
Who is Angelica and...
What is Pappalooza Chooza?
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