Love not for sale , livre ebook

Random House Publishers India Pvt. Ltd. - Anurag Garg

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83 pages

English

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Love can happen anywhere, with anyone...Kabir Thapar is the spoilt son of a rich capitalist in Mumbai. His mother's sudden death scars him for life, leaving him at loggerheads with his father who finds himself a new wife in no time.As Kabir embarks on a downward spiral of alcohol and drugs, he, on one ill-fated day, finds himself embroiled in a hit-and-run case. Making a quick escape, Kabir ends up in a red-light area, where he meets Sehar, a sex worker. As he falls head over heels for her, he must own up to the one emotion he has been running away from all his life-love.From the bestselling author of A Half-baked Love Story comes a story that perfectly weaves together the explosive passion between Kabir and Sehar, the contradictions of 'modern' India, and the inevitable tragedy that befalls its lovers.

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Romance

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Publié par	Random House Publishers India Pvt. Ltd.
Date de parution	10 juillet 2015
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9788184007114
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

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ANURAG GARG

LOVE Not for Sale
RANDOM HOUSE INDIA
CONTENTS
A Note on the Author
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Follow Random House
Copyright
A Note on the Author
Anurag Garg is an engineering graduate. He s also the author of a national bestselling novel, A Half-Baked Love Story . He finds himself close to nature and believes in creating circles of love and Service around him. He lives in New Delhi and works in the IT Industry.
You can follow him on Facebook:
www.facebook.com/anurag2392
Or drop in a mail at:
anurag2392@gmail.com
To know more about the book, visit:
www.facebook.com/lovenotforsalebook
For the women and children spreading the light of love in red-light districts
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I ll rise. . . .
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I ll rise. . . .
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I ll rise. . . .
Out of the huts of history s shame
I rise
Up from a past that s rooted in pain
I rise
I m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
-Maya Angelou
Prologue
10 July 2013
Yerwada Jail, Mumbai
Prison is a lonely place to be in. Five years have gone by and I wake up every day knowing that there is nobody I can lean on or share my secrets with. My punishment is my own making.
A million thoughts gallop through my mind as I look at these lines I have scribbled on the walls of my six-by-eight feet prison cell with a piece of wood I found lying in a corner. It is a small, dark room, sparsely decorated with a bed and a side table.
Despite all the loneliness and deprivation that one faces in prison, the time in exile is also oddly therapeutic as it gives you time to think. To think about who you are and what brought you to this place. My years in exile have made me gain valuable insights into my life and have allowed me to see what I despised about myself as a young man in desperate search for love.
This wandering of the mind has also helped me achieve some measure of freedom. You are no longer trapped in the little cage you live in. You can go anywhere, be anyone, for at least a while. You can relive all the beautiful moments of your life again. It s a space where no one can stop you from being with the person you love.
She said, Keep me alive in your words, and here I am, struggling with words since she left. I have a pen in hand, a writing pad before me, ready to write the last few chapters of my life. I have no idea yet what this book is going to say. There can t be any plan. I m not the one deciding what s going to go into it, and what s going to be left out.
I believe the universe plans your life in such a way that you can connect all the dots once it s all over, like I am doing today. Just as everyone has a turning point in life, this one was mine. And this turning point either makes you or breaks you.
It was the summer of 2008 when my life changed forever. So this is where I m going to start my story from.
1
July 2008
I don t remember the last time I cried. Well, sort of. The only memory I have of ever shedding a tear is when my mother passed away in my arms. This was seven years ago. She couldn t breathe. She was fighting for life but no one saved her. Doctors, nurses, uncles and aunts, everybody stood there silently and saw her dying. She tried to say something but couldn t. Her face was covered with a mask and tubes. I yearned for her to get back to how she was before.
Dad was away in London though he was constantly on the phone with the doctor. But it s not the same as having him right next to you, telling you it ll all be okay. I was in tears, screaming, pleading with dad to come back. He was busy, he said. Everybody knew she was going to die any moment. She had some sort of blood cancer, and at thirty kilos, looked like a skeleton of her former self. She caressed my hand one final time before she shut her eyes forever and my dad found a new wife for himself in no time. We hardly spoke after that and I have never shed a tear since that day.
But today was different. Today I could again feel my eyes turning moist. It wasn t from love, attachment or emotions. It was from losing someone who had always been there for me in times of need.
It was Shanaya s wedding.
She was dressed like a traditional Indian bride. Henna decorating her hands and feet, she was covered from head to toe in gold ornaments-necklace, nose ring, earrings, bangles. . .
As she began her walk down the aisle, the dhol drums erupted in beats to mark her entrance, and the bells on her anklets jingled each time to the thunderous beats. Onlookers watched as she carefully made her way to the huge canopy. They had a marquee designed to mimic a Rajasthani palace.
I was her boyfriend, and she was one of my girlfriends. She was a family friend and we knew each other since childhood. She was beautiful; therefore, she made it to my list of girlfriends. Whether she loved me or not was another question. I think she did, and she did it truly. But I never took her love seriously. I had flings even while I was with her. But now that she was getting married to someone, someone who she thinks will love her more than I ever could, I felt jealous. I was constantly trying to prove to myself that I possess no feelings, that I don t care who loves me or hates me. So why was I suddenly feeling so bothered?
She didn t even text me that she was getting married. I just saw the invitation lying somewhere in my house. I decided not to clear anything with her and just face the situation as it is.
To prove to myself that I was devoid of emotions, I attended her wedding. I don t know if that burden was there or not, but there was surely a sense of conflict between my own thoughts, as I recalled what happened between both of us a month back.
Get out of the fucking car, RIGHT NOW! she screamed at me. Her eyes were already full of tears.
Relax, baby, I said, stepping out of the car as she slapped me hard, very hard.
You son of a bitch, she howled as she went down on her knees, placing her hands on the footpath.
How could you do this to me? I thought you loved me. But here you are with this fucking whore! She was crying, loud enough for passers-by to stop and observe.
I made a mistake, Shanaya. I feel horrible, I lied to her. I didn t feel horrible at all. I do this far too often to feel horrible about it.
Is this what you want? Do you even love me? She looked up, straight into my eyes. Her eyes were blood-red by then. Tears drenched her pink cheeks. I was clueless about what to say. I thought and thought while she sobbed. I didn t know whether it was actually love or not. For me love was being together on dates, in clubs or in bedrooms. She didn t seem to love me like that. She wanted something else, something you call- compassion . Yet she was the one I was most close to. She deserved someone better than me, someone who could provide her with a better life than I ever could.
This is it then. You re free, I said with moist eyes, and looked away. The power of a relationship lies with the one who cares less. I couldn t afford to show her the other side of Kabir Thapar. He wasn t weak, caring and emotional. I had to leave her for my own freedom.
Well, thank you. My dad was right about you. Do you know what your problem is? You think you can get anything in this world with your money, Kabir. But let me tell you one thing-you re not rich until you ve got something that money can t buy. And you can never buy love. Never. Saying this, she stormed out of my life forever.
After a few days, I found myself at her wedding.
I was sitting on an antique brass chair with a glass of wine in my hand, gulping down with every sip all the memories I had shared with her, and trying to figure out all that was happening around me. I was going through that mixed feelings phase where I was telling myself that everything was just perfect though I knew it was far from the truth.
Just then my phone beeped. I m reaching in an hour! texted Rhea, my best friend. She never made it to the list of girls I dated. She was too much of a tomboy to be taken seriously as a girl. She even looked like a schoolgoing boy at times, especially when she wore her thick black spectacles and denim shorts with a loose shirt. She was my 4 a.m. friend, someone I could call any time I wanted. She was Shanaya s and my common friend. She tried to convince me to ask Shanaya to come back, but I didn t want that. I had a huge ego problem. I called the waiter for another glass of wine. A group of beautiful girls stared at me and talked to each other in hushed tones. One particular girl in the group garnered the maximum stares from boys. She was wearing a strapless top that barely contained her bosom, and a heavily embroidered red sari.
We shared glances. She smiled from the corner of her eyes. I stood up and walked towards the bar. She left her group and started walking in my direction. Her friends followed close behind. I got the odd feeling that she wanted to get laid that very night or was I thinking too much? It happens to me all the time, and no girl has ever proved me wrong. I wanted to approach the girl just to prove to myself that Shanaya getting married was no big deal for me.
Hey, can I get you girls a drink? I said, raising my glass high in the air. Rule number one to getting laid: Do not look straight at the girl you want, look at her friends first. This will make her feel je